


Azurite

by geoffaree



Series: A Very Slytherin Harry [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parseltongue, Severitus, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoffaree/pseuds/geoffaree
Summary: The Dark Lord has risen. An unexpected ally returns to deliver troubling news. As Voldemort gathers power it is a nerve wracking summer for Harry and Jax as they are sequestered away from their home and Spinner's End. With fifth year also come O.W.L.s and a new Defense teacher that seems more interested in suppressing the truth than preparing them for the coming danger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I cannot believe we have made it all the way to fifth year! I am blown away by the response from you guys, I am so happy you are enjoying this series so much and I sincerely hope that you continue to do so as we chug right on along. Thank you so much to all of you wonderful people!

Harry watched as his father pulled a man inside Spinner’s End at wandpoint. Remus Lupin gasped quietly, going stiff beside Harry and squeezing his shoulder probably harder than he meant to. The man had flicked a look in their direction, settling eerily dead on to where they stood still under Remus’ Disillusionment Charm before returning to Severus. Who had not lowered his wand but was looking as white as a sheet in the insufficient illumination provided by the streetlights through the single high window.

“How are you alive?” In spite of his obviously shaken appearance, Severus’ voice was reassuringly precise and demanding.

“Cunning mostly, and a fair bit of luck, I admit. It took a lot of work and a lot of cut ties. But I had something I needed to do, that I _still_ need to do.”

“I thought you were _dead_. We all thought you were dead.”

“Yes, that was rather the point.” The man did not smile, did not joke, he spoke with a deep weariness in clipped tones.

“ _Regulus..._ ” Harry’s father started, paused in a way that was very much not like him, Severus Snape was not a man given to uncertainty, “where have you been?”

Now it was Harry holding in a startled noise. Regulus? Regulus _Black_? Sirius’ brother? The one that had died for turning against Voldemort? Except, evidently that was not entirely correct.

“I told you. I had work that needed doing.”

“Why did you not come to me, then? I would have helped you.”

“No, Severus,” Regulus told him, the words heavy and somber, “you would not have. Not then, not blinded as you were. As we all were.”

Severus let out a snarl of a breath and still did not lower his wand.

“And now?”

Regulus slowly spread his arms, hands empty of wand or weapon, palms up.

“And now the Dark Lord has risen anew and my work is not yet complete, evidenced by the way he shrugged off your Killing Curse as if it were a slightly inconvenient hiccup.”

“You were there? You saw?”

Harry shuddered, his arm still throbbed where Crouch Junior had cut him, his nerves still sang in aftershocks of pain from the Cruciatus.

“Of course, I was called just as you were.” Regulus pulled back the sleeve of his black peacoat to reveal a matching skull and snake tattoo to that of Harry’s father. Malvoyant and ugly in its starkness against the man’s pale skin, red and inflamed around the edges. “I witnessed your rescue of the boy and the unfortunate aftermath your failed assassination attempt had on the morale of the old crowd. It very nearly cemented the Dark Lord’s claim to power and subservience from all when you proved just how impossible it would be to kill him.”

“No man is unkillable.” Severus murmured, fact and promise both, “I will find a way.”

“Precisely,” Regulus nodded, “which is why I _have_ come to you now. I know how to do it, the problem lies with acquisition and execution. Two things I remember you being particularly skilled at, clever as you are.”

“Flattery will not get you far with me, Regulus.”

“I seem to remember it working quite well, actually.” The other man countered, in the least grave tone of voice Harry had heard from him yet that night, although it was still far from any sort of levity.

“I was young and stupid then, I’ve since learned better.” Severus snorted.

“Young? Yes, I suppose, but we all were. Stupid? Never. You should be well aware that I never bother with stupid people. We all make mistakes, Severus. All we can do now is try to atone for them.”

“On that we are agreed, at least.”

“Good. There is little enough time already, without my having to drag you into reason.”

“And why _should_ I blindly trust a man presumed dead for fifteen years?”

“You should never blindly trust anyone, Severus, which you very well know. Nor am I asking that of you.” Regulus spread his palms again, meeting Severus’ dark gaze with deliberate pointedness. “Have a look, I will not hide anything from you. There is no point to it now.”

It was no surprise to Harry that his father hardly hesitated a moment before taking the man up on the implied offer. Although Severus did not speak the spell as he did with Harry, it was nonetheless obvious that his father was delving deep into Regulus’ thoughts. When the pair of them resurfaced a few moments later, Severus finally lowered his wand.

“Very well. But any further discussion should be had elsewhere, we have lingered here far longer than is prudent already.”

“Agreed. Do you have a safe house already prepared? If not, then perhaps 12 Grimmauld Place?”

“We have a location already,” Severus looked over into their corner for the first time since their guest arrived, “Remus, if you would?”

Remus gave Harry’s shoulder a little squeeze before stepping away and dropping the Disillusionment from himself. He was very nearly as pale as Harry’s father as he looked at Regulus with wide, emotive eyes, it made the scars stand out all the more on his face.

“Lupin.” Regulus greeted gravely, either completely unsurprised by the man’s presence or very good at hiding it.

“Regulus. I--” Remus choked back whatever he was about to say before lowering his voice and murmuring something lowly to the other man.

“Understood. I will meet you there in an hour’s time.” He turned as if to leave and Remus darted a hand out to catch his sleeve.

“You’ll tell Sirius, won’t you? That you’re alive? He’s been torn up about it, blames himself.”

“Of course he does, the self-deprecating git,” Regulus sighed, “eventually, yes. After I’ve explained what needs doing.”

“He misses you. He regrets...” Remus stopped again at the look Regulus leveled at him.

“We all have regrets, Lupin. My brother is not alone in that. Now if you will excuse me.” He tugged his coat sleeve free and strode towards the door, calling over his shoulder before disappearing once more into the night, “One hour.”

As the door closed behind Regulus Black, Harry darted back across the sitting room, no doubt disrupting the remnants of his Disillusionment Charm completely. His father pulled him close once more, although he was watching the front door as if seeing far beyond its slightly warped frame.

“Come, we must leave now.”

Then Remus was telling him the address of a cabin nestled into the forests of Dartmoor and they were again twisting away into the darkness.

When they had arrived at the cabin for the first time, everything had an air of disuse about it. Overgrown grass and no lights shining in the windows. Inside it was dusty and quite a few pieces of furniture were still covered in drop clothes, although there was evidence of a recent attempt to straighten things out.

Harry honestly could not find it in himself to care overmuch about their surroundings at that moment. He was exhausted and hurt and he just wanted the entire night to have never happened.

“Sit, Harry. Let me have a look at you.” His father commanded, and Harry numbly followed the order, no doubt tracking grave dirt and blood all over the dust cover of the nearest lounge.

Jax nuzzled at his temple as Severus carefully examined him from head to foot. Casting various diagnostic spells and healing the cut on his arm with ease. In the background, Remus wandered around tidying things nervously.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured as his father prodded the freshly healed cut gently, “for coming for me, I mean.”

“Always.” Severus answered back, equally quiet as he ran a soothing hand through Harry’s grimy locks. “Always, Harry.”

By the time Regulus Black arrived, Harry had managed to take a short bath in a clawfooted tub (there were no showers in any of the five bathrooms) and change into one of the shirts he had nicked from his father that very first summer. He had found it in the bag that Remus had brought with them, it must have been left behind in his room at Spinner’s End. And a pair of soft black sleep pants that Severus was kind enough to shorten for him so he did not trip over the too long legs.

Remus tried to get him to eat something, but Harry knew anything he attempted would just come right back up and so contented himself with the strong tea and Calming Draught provided by his father.

Regulus Black was carrying a box with him when he knocked on the cabin door precisely one hour later. He set it on the counter in the kitchen where they were all gathered. The box was medium sized and stained a very dark brown. It had a silver clasp and hinges but no other decoration.

“Hello.” He said to Harry, nodding at him as Harry stared back, trying to see the similarities between him and Sirius. They shared the same gray eyes and he suspected if Regulus were to grow out his hair from its severe cut it would fall in the same dark waves. Perhaps the cheekbones as well. It was definitely clear that the two were related.

“Hello.”

Jax flicked his tongue out at the man, hissing a low warning.

“Hello to you as well, Master Serpent. You do well to protect your charge.”

Harry blinked, it was not often that people addressed Jax directly. It calmed the snake down at least, though he never took his eyes off of Regulus.

“I was glad to hear that Severus had taken you in.”

“Really?” Harry narrowed his gaze a little, “Why? That is not the general consensus as I’ve come to understand.” 

“Severus deserves a chance at happiness, I have always thought so.” Regulus stated, and Harry could not help but agree on that. So when the man offered his hand, Harry shook it.

He wished his hadn’t a moment later when Regulus breathed in deeply and frowned down at their clasped hands with a look bordering on devastation that was just as quickly hidden away.

“That is unfortunate.” The man muttered to himself, letting go of Harry’s hand but pinning him with an indecipherable look. “I am so sorry.”

“For what, pray tell?” Severus broke in, suddenly standing at Harry’s shoulder.

“Things have just become much more complicated than I anticipated.”

“Explain.”

And he did, as much as Harry really wished he had not. He would have much rather continued on in blissful ignorance.

In the box was a half-melted blob of gold that might have once been a cup. A locket split open, pockmarked and blackened. And a ring twisted past all use as if warped by fire, what Harry suspected to be the stone that was once set into the ring lay in the corner of the box, oddly unmarked but for a strange etching unlike any rune he’d ever come across.

“These were once horcruxes.”

Severus sucked in a sharp breath.

“Yes, they were the Dark Lord’s. When I discovered what he had been doing, when I opened my eyes to the terrible things _I_ was doing in his name, I vowed to hunt each of them down so that one day there might be a real chance to kill him.”

“Three are in that box, how many could there possibly be?” Severus leaned forward to peer into said box, his face had gone white again and Harry could see how hard he was clasping his hands together behind his back.

“Seven.” 

“Impossible.” His father denied at once, as Harry and Remus watched the exchange with equally bemused expressions.

“I thought so as well, until two minutes ago when I shook your son’s hand.”

“What do I have to do with it? What’s a horcrux?” Harry demanded even as his father pulled him back from the table.

“No. No, that is not possible. You must be mistaken.”

“You asked where I have been these past fifteen years, Severus,” Regulus jabbed a finger at the box of broken junk, “ _that_ , that is where I have been. I know what I am talking about. I know a horcrux when I feel one. As much as I wish it were not so, I would not lie to you. Especially not about this.”

The two men glared at one another and the tension in the room ratcheted up and up and up until Remus broke the silence.

“So, is anybody going to explain what exactly a horcrux is and why you think Harry might be one?”

“A soul jar.” Severus answered, not taking his eyes off Regulus and holding Harry close against himself.

“You are not being as helpful as you think you are, love.” Remus said, touching the man’s shoulder lightly.

“It is a means of splitting one’s soul and storing it in an object or another being to safeguard oneself from death.” Regulus supplied.

“That is utterly horrific,” Remus went a bit green, “why would anyone be mad enough to mangle their _soul_ , let alone more than once.”

“Madness has a great deal to do with it. To rend one’s soul takes an act of great evil. Of murder. To then sever it completely and imbue it in another object take a concerted effort of will and determination and no small amount of insanity. My theory, through a heavy amount of investigation and digging, is that the Dark Lord wished to split his soul seven times, as he believes seven to be the most magical number.”

“You said you believed there to be seven horcruxes, that would mean _eight_ tears.” Severus cut in.

“Yes, well, if I had to hazard a guess, by the time he got to Harry, I do not think he meant to make him a soul jar. But the tattered remnants of his spirit could not hold up to the strain of whatever happened the night that he vanished and a part of him flew into the nearest living thing out of sheer desperation. I doubt the Dark Lord is even aware that he had done so.”

Regulus then turned his sharp gaze on Harry, who was too busy reeling from the very idea to look away.

“Harry, do you think you could try to isolate anything inside of you that might feel off? It would be a dark presence, maybe angry or spiteful or jealous.”

“I could try...” Harry said uncertainly as Jax nuzzled against his temple again.

“It would help if you knew Occlumency, has Severus taught you any?”

“Yes.”

“He has become quite adept.” His father confirmed, which sent a warm burst of pride through him, chasing away some of the awfulness that had accumulated.

Harry tried to find what Regulus was talking about, but he was too tired, too worn down to concentrate and he let out a frustrated sigh a few minutes later.

“I can’t, it just all feels like... me.”

“It would,” the man nodded slowly, “if it happened when you were that young. Try again in the morning, when you’re rested. It’s very important that we quantify as much about it as possible if we wish to remove it safely.”

“If the Dark Lord truly did this to Harry, how exactly would you go about removing it?” Severus demanded.

“I don’t know, yet.” Regulus admitted heavily, gesturing at his box. “As you can see, any process I have found powerful enough to destroy the horcrux also damages the host irreparably. Which, I suspect, is in the nature of such Dark magic.”

“That will _not_ happen to my son.”

“No. I expect it will not. But a solution will no doubt take time to puzzle out. In the meantime, there are still three unknown horcruxes out there that need finding and taking out before we have any hope at all in defeating our enemy.”

“How do you tell if something is a... horcrux.” Harry asked, there was a tremble in his hands that refused to settle. Why could he simply never just live his life?

“It will have a near visibly malevolent aura about it if it is an inanimate object, living things are harder to identify as they have their own presence. But an object, depending on how long it has played host to a scrap of soul and how much of that soul resides within can sometimes even manipulate those around it. Never for good.”

“Like the diary.” Harry said, glancing up at his father.

“Yes, that would make a terrible amount of sense.” Severus agreed.

“What diary?” Regulus asked, sharply commanding. Jax hissed a string of expletives and Harry ran a soothing hand over his neck.

“Tom Riddle left a diary in the care of Lucius Malfoy that found its way, quite by accident I’m sure, into the hands of a first year. It possessed her into leading a basilisk around the school, petrifying students left and right. Harry found it and instead of _bringing the obviously highly suspect magical artifact directly to me_ ,” Harry winced, “he was possessed himself.”

“What happened to the diary? Where is it?”

“Destroyed,” Harry answered, “Ximen skewered it.”

“Ximen? Skewered it with what? You can’t just stab a horcrux and expect it to do anything.”

“His fang, Ximen’s a basilisk, he used to live in the Chamber of Secrets until we smuggled him out to Spain so he could go start a family.”

“Ah, that... that would do it.” Regulus scratched his beard, eyeing Severus. “You didn't happen to get any spare venom from this Ximen, did you? I have a vast number of connections and no small amount of money, but basilisk venom is still a very hard thing to come by.”

“I do. Although it is a small amount.”

“And this diary? Where is it now?”

“I believe Albus has it, he wished to study it. Perhaps he follows the same trail as you.”

Regulus scoffed and Harry could not help liking the man just a little bit, even if he came bearing such horrifying news.

They spoke for a while longer, but as much as Harry wished to listen he was still exhausted to his very bones and soon his father was leading him along a hallway to a room that was bigger than the one he had at Spinner’s End and but somehow seemed claustrophobic in its unfamiliarity.

“I wish for you to take some Dreamless tonight,” Severus murmured pulling the familiar purple bottle out of a robe pocket and conjuring a spoon to dose out a portion. “I will be here when you wake, but with this news I may need to leave to acquire research materials. If that is the case, Remus will stay here with you. Nobody else can find us here, the cabin is under Fidelius. You will be safe.”

“Regulus Black knows.” Harry couldn’t help pointing out.

“I would not have let him anywhere near here or you if I did not trust him. He was honest in every word he spoke, as much as I would wish it otherwise.” He held the spoon out and Harry dutifully took the potion, even if he felt a bit foolish being hand fed medicine in bed by his father when he was nearly fifteen years old. Although, he supposed he had quite a few years of being fatherless to catch up on that it didn’t really matter.

~~~~~~~>

Harry dug his fingers into the dark soil of a back garden that did not have a low stone wall surrounding it, nor a magically expanded greenhouse squeezed into the corner. It definitely did not have a dirty river chugging away down beyond its non-existent border wall. There were no towering row houses butting up against them, no screaming domestics to be heard, or the bloodthirsty yowls of territorial alley cats fighting over scraps of rubbish.

Even the _air_ was different. Clean and fresh, free of car exhaust and wafting clouds of cigarette smoke and decades of factory sediments that still clogged the atmosphere even with the nearby facilities having been abandoned years beforehand.

No, here it was quiet and clean and unspoiled.

Instead of the dreariness of Cokeworth, they were surrounded by nature. Trees and burbling springs, chirping birds, and the occasional squirrel.

Harry hated it.

It wasn't Spinner's End. It wasn't _home_. And every little difference he came across just worked to emphasize that point. Harry had grown inextricably attached to the squat row house. With its creaking stairs and scuffed up kitchen table and discolored linoleum that was due for a good scrubbing again.

No, this cabin they now occupied was not Spinner's End. Not even close.

But Harry would have to make do. He could adapt.

That did not mean he had to be happy about it, though. Or take it unconditionally.

So here he was, planting a row of aconite into what was to be a modest garden behind their cabin. He was no Neville Longbottom when it came to plants, but Harry was determined to bring some familiarity back into his life. He had helped his father in the back garden over the last two summers, so he would plant one and they could perhaps continue to do so.

It wouldn't be _their_ garden, but it would be a close enough facsimile that Harry was willing to put the work into it.

It wasn't as if he had much else to do with his time.

And Harry needed something to do. Otherwise, he would be left alone with his thoughts. With unpleasant truths and tangled webs of anxiety and dread and the coiling darkness he imagined seeping into his very veins.

So, gardening.

“ _I almost caught a rabbit, but the fucker hopped like twenty feet into the air. That shit can't be natural._ ” Jax hissed petulantly, slithering up next to Harry.

“ _What would you have done if you had caught it?_ ” He asked, carefully patting the dirt back into place over the aconite roots, it was a special strain that Severus wanted to tinker with for Remus’ potion. “ _It would have been too big for you._ ”

“ _We could have shared._ ”

Harry snorted, brushing the dirt off his dragonhide gloves before gathering up his supplies and regaining his feet.

“ _Best to stick to toads and mice, buddy._ ”

He turned them towards the cabin. A modest enough affair from the outside, oaken with a moss-covered roof. There was a creeping growth of wisteria claiming much of back wall, Harry had spent a sweaty two days wrangling the fast growing branches into some semblance of order that would allow them use of the back door and windows. He could have made the job easier with magic, but it had been a good distraction at the time (and if he was honest, a continuing one as he suspected the plant of possessing the same messy-speed-growth magic his own hair displayed, the way it so stridently resisted Harry's attempts at trimming and maintenance).

Boarding the foot of the cabin were large stones, carved with swirling patterns and runes of which Harry could only translate around every third engraving. If you stood close enough to them, you could feel the hum of their power. Jax had had a right fit of sneezing their first day there before he learned to just avoid them. There were stepping stones that led up to both the front and back entrances, also carved and imbued with power. Enchantments to detect intruders, unwanted creatures both magical and mundane, and the intentions of those passing over them. They had already been there when Harry and Severus had arrived, built in protections that had probably been laid down generations before. Evidently, paranoia was an inherited trait.

The cabin had apparently been bestowed upon his father, along with a few other properties (all in various states of disrepair) and some modest amount of coinage in a vault at Gringotts when Severus had adopted Harry. Unknowingly fulfilling some arbitrary stipulations set down by his maternal grandfather in his will. Something to do with Severus being the last of the direct Prince line through his mother. Although the will snubbed her quite thoroughly and Severus very nearly just as much, when he had acquired a magical heir of his own it had triggered something somewhere that allowed him to take possession of their current residence.

From what he understood of the situation Harry thought it was a bit rich of the man to shun his own daughter for not doing what was expected of her and to ignore his grandson for the majority of his life, only to then make a will that gave a great deal of legacy of the Prince line into his hands. Only _after_ producing a proper heir, of course.

Harry was glad he would never have the opportunity to meet the man himself.

He did find it sad though, that so many of the old families were dying out. The Princes, the Potters, the Blacks. There was so much history there, just withering away due to an unwillingness to adapt.

Harry hoped his own generation would do better at persevering their pasts while also looking towards the future. Otherwise, they may very well all be doomed.

Speaking of the Blacks, inside the cabin, sequestered in the spacious sitting room that butted up against a long dining hall and smoking parlor on either side (it was a very different story inside the building than out) sat Regulus Black, drinking coffee darker than any Harry had ever seen a person consume, not even Blaise. He had a stack of books on the low table in front of him and was frowning down at an open one in his lap. Regulus Black always seemed to be frowning, Harry did not think he knew how to be anything other than deadly serious.

Harry... Harry did not actually know how he felt about Regulus. The man was very solemn, always watching everything around him. Always asking Harry pointed questions about the thing that was hitching a ride inside of him that Harry had somehow never noticed.

Harry didn’t like thinking about the horcrux, it made him feel oily and unclean. He wondered if its presence inside of him had helped the diary overtake him so completely in second year, or if he had just been that weak. That susceptible to darker influences.

Jax had sniffed him, to see if he could smell anything like the diary. And to Harry’s trepidation, the serpent _could_. It was concentrated around his scar, mostly. Which was either a good thing because it may help in extraction it if it was keeping to one spot, or utterly terrible given its proximity to his mind. Harry spent more than a few hours panicking over whether all of his action were his own or the influence of the Dark Lord.

Would he have killed Quirrell if this thing was not inside of him?

It scared Harry that he thought the answer might still be yes. That he might be that ruthless truly, even if it was in the protection of others and himself. Where did one draw that line? What was reasonable to justify for the greater good?

Harry wished Blaise were here for him to talk to. He didn’t want to bother his father over his morality crisis, the man already had more than enough to worry about and Harry did not want to add more to that burden than he already had. But Harry hadn’t seen Blaise in a month and a half. Severus had not allowed him to return to Hogwarts for the remaining three weeks of term, not that much of a hardship given the state of his head at the moment and the fact that he did not have to take the end of year exams in any case. His father had brought him some things to work on, however, so that he did not go insane doing nothing but fighting the wisteria and worrying over what the Dark Lord was going to do now that he had returned.

“Hello, Harry.” Regulus said, eyeing him soberly over the rim of his coffee cup, it was a delicate thing with the Prince family crest emblazoned on the side and Regulus held it with all the natural elegance of a pureblood wizard raised with such expectations of manners. Harry wondered how well the man would get along with Draco, probably far better than Sirius did.

Harry nodded, “Is my dad here?”

“No, I am afraid he received a missive from Dumbledore and had to leave somewhat abruptly. Remus is in the kitchen I believe, he said something about making lunch.”

“Oh, okay. Er, thanks.” Harry backed out of the room once more. He did not mind being around Regulus, but he would rather other people be present also. The man was intense and Harry did not wish that concentrated so fully on him. The intensity wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he did not believe Regulus meant any of them any harm, but still... He would rather a buffer in place.

Remus was indeed in the kitchen, constructing sandwiches bigger than Harry’s head. Along with a large bowl of fresh salad and another of cut fruit. Harry had come to realise over the last few weeks that Remus Lupin was a nervous cooker. Whenever he was feeling anxious or troubled or restless you were sure to find the man in the kitchen making a house elf sized portion of food. It was fair to say that none of them would be starving.

“Hey there, Harry. Did you finish up outside?” Remus asked as Harry pulled up a stool to the prep counter and the man set one of the monstrous sandwiches before him. “Best wash up first.”

“I finished the aconite, I still need to do the sage and the valerian.” If Remus was a nervous baker, Harry thought as he dutifully washed up at the sink, then he might be turning into a nervous gardener.

“I’m sure Severus will wish to help when he returns.”

“Where did he go? Regulus said he got a summons from Dumbledore, has something happened?” Things had been far too quiet for Harry’s liking, Voldemort had not made any overt moves since the night of his resurrection and Harry dreaded what that meant.

“Order business, not dangerous but urgent all the same. I expect he should be back soon. Eat, you’ve been working all morning.”

Harry wasn’t particularly hungry but he took a bite anyway, if only to make Remus feel better. The man did not touch his own sandwich, just stared out the window with a faraway look in his brown eyes.

When they had first come to the cabin, Severus had wanted to stay with Harry exclusively, as much as possible. But he had to return to the school at least a few days out of the week until the term ended, to see to his duties as Potions Master and Head of House. Remus would stay with him then, and Regulus was a frequent visitor. Sirius dropped by too after Severus had reluctantly given his godfather permission to know where they were hidden.

That had been an experience the first time he had shown up, as apparently Regulus had not gotten around to informing his brother that he was alive yet.

Sirius had swept Harry up into a fierce hug only to drop him abruptly when he spotted Regulus behind him, looking for once caught off guard and nervous.

“R-Reggie?” Sirius breathed and Harry quickly stepped to the side.

“Hello, brother.” Regulus sighed, the line of his shoulders tense as Sirius took awkward, jerking steps forward.

“How-- what is-- how are you _alive_?”

“It’s a long story, I’d rather not get into it right now. Suffice it to say, here I am.”

“Reggie,” Sirius raised a trembling hand towards the man, “Reggie you complete _bastard_! You absolute twat! You’ve been alive this _entire_ time?”

Harry winced as Sirius smacked his brother hard across the face, only to then pull the man into a bone crushing hug that involved far too many pained sobs for Harry to be anywhere near comfortable with. Regulus seemed to be of the same mindset as he stood there stiffly and allowed his brother to make an utter mess of his tunic.

“You’re such a little shit, Reggie.” Sirius choked out.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Regulus agreed somberly, patting Sirius awkwardly on the back as best he could with his arms trapped as they were.

His cheek was a dark red past his beard where Sirius had hit him, but the man did not seem angered in the least by the violence against his person. Perhaps he thought he deserved it, Harry was not about to judge another man’s meter of penance. 

Since then, both Black brothers had come to the cabin frequently, although Regulus seemed to have a knack for knowing when Sirius was there as they were rarely both in the same place. At least, not at the cabin. Harry did not know what either of them did when not there. Order business, most likely. Harry was unaware if Regulus was a known entity among the rest of the Order of the Phoenix (a group headed by Dumbledore, Harry’s father had explained to him, for the express purpose of defeating the Dark Lord), or if he was keeping his anonymity for as long as possible.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Regulus himself stepped into the kitchen with a book under his arm and Severus at his shoulder. Harry felt the tension seep out of him at the sight of his father alive and unharmed.

Remus seemed equally pleased and drew over more stools for them all to sit down. When he placed one of the towering sandwiches in front of the Potions Master, it was with the brush of a kiss to his cheek as well.

Harry averted his gaze back to own food, noticing Regulus doing the same.

He missed Blaise, they had exchanged a few letters before term ended, but nothing since as the fireplace in the cabin was not connected to the Floo network for security reasons and neither of them owned an owl. Blaise could very well have sent him a letter all the way from Italy, but Harry had no idea how long it would take one to get here. He stabbed at a cherry tomato and tried to ignore how his heart ached, it never used to do that when he thought about how long it would be before he saw his friends again.

Jax snapped up a tomato of his own and Harry scritched under his jaw and pointedly did not sigh despondently like he wished to.

“There is a meeting in a week, a large one.” Severus informed them.

“Oh?” Remus raised his brow, spearing a cube of honeydew on his fork.

“Yes, we are all to attend.”

“All of us?” Harry blinked and his father nodded.

“I do not wish to leave you here unattended. I can not promise you will be allowed to stay for the entirety of the meeting, but there will be other children of Order members there as well.”

“Where is it being held?”

“I can not say, Albus is the Secret Keeper for the Order, he will have to tell you.”

“He’s not coming here, is he?” Harry did not like the idea of the Headmaster being included on the small list of people allowed past their wards. His father quirked an eyebrow at him, but it was an amused one.

“No, I will apparate us near enough and he will meet us there.”

Harry nodded and went back to his lunch.

After they finished eating, Severus did, in fact, come out to help Harry with the little garden and he could almost pretend it was a normal summer day.


	2. Chapter 2

In addition to gardening, Harry also filled his time with defense lessons from his father. Severus wished him to know how to fight well, given that it was likely that he would be in far more danger than normal. Harry sometimes wondered what it might be like to _not_ be under constant threat, to _have_ a normal life. Or as normal as one might ever have, being magical. Although, of course, that was relative as well.

Still, he would like to go a few months at a time not itching with dread, if at all possible.

So, defense lessons.

His father was a good teacher, Harry had always thought so. As long as one paid attention and did not try and mess about during lessons. The man obviously knew about what he lectured on and conveyed it clearly to those willing to listen.

He helped Harry fine tune his stance with emphasis on not becoming rooted to the spot, a moving target was always harder to hit than a stationary one. He approved of the strength of Harry’s Shielding Charm but they spent a long afternoon working on his Stunning until Harry could throw red bolts across the front garden in rapid succession without losing accuracy or strength.

“Very good.” The man murmured as the spare potion vials they had been using for targets went spinning through the air, one after another, most cracked and one completely shattered by the force of his final Stunner. There was an undercurrent of pride present in his father’s voice that Harry basked in like Jax was doing on the sun-drenched lawn behind them.

The only hitch in their lessons arrived when Severus announced that they were to be working on another aspect of Patroni that they had not covered in third year.

“It is a very useful skill to know, if not as subtle as I might wish it.” He began as he led Harry to their usual training spot. The grass had undergone a rough time, with patches missing in great chunks from misaimed spells and the trample of foot traffic that had not been seen on it for probable decades. “One can utilize their Patronus to send messages. It is a near instant transference, but you can neither delay the message nor set stipulations, such as to not relay it if others are present. As such, it should not be used for sensitive information unless there are serious extenuating circumstances.”

“That seems pretty useful,” Harry commented, “and difficult to mimic, as everybody’s Patronus is presumably unique to them. Or at least differing enough that you would be hard pressed to find a similar match to your specific target.”

“Indeed.” Severus agreed with an assenting nod before raising his wand, “Observe, I will demonstrate.”

But when his father murmured the spell, what sprung forth from his wand was not the graceful, bounding doe but and awkwardly skipping fawn that seemed more inclined to trip over its own glowing hooves as it circled the lawn before approaching them than to ward off any potential incoming threats.

“What... what happened to your Patronus?” Harry asked quietly as the fawn wrinkled its ghostly nose at a flower in the grass and gave an equally ghostly sneeze that nearly sent it toppling.

A glance up at his father showed Severus looking uncommonly stunned as he stared at the fawn with wide, black eyes, his thin mouth slightly parted in the most nonplussed expression Harry had ever seen the man display.

“It changed.” He breathed after a long moment, raising a pale hand as if to stroke along the fawn’s spotted flank, though his fingers would pass right through it.

“They can do that? Why? How?”

Severus blinked, pulling his hand back even as the Patronus vanished in a flash of blue-white light.

“Patroni are reflections of pure emotion,” his father continued, voice oddly hollowed as he continued to stare into the place where the fawn had stood, “given strong enough influence or great trauma, something that _impacts_ a person so deeply they can not separate themselves from that truth, it all coalesces in that reflection.”

“The doe, what did she reflect?” Harry asked quietly, although he suspected the answer and was proven correct a moment later as his father finally looked away from his vanished Patronus and met Harry’s gaze with a depth of emotion that he was unprepared to wade through.

“Your mother. She,” Severus sighed, a heavy thing that had Harry reaching for his father’s free hand in solidarity, “she was my greatest friend for a very long time. Until she wasn’t.”

Harry knew this, Severus had told him so on other occasions. Knew of their falling out and how his mother had died before they were able to mend broken bridges. But Harry had not known that their relationship had run so deep as to carve such a lasting, visible impression on his father.

Or, not so lasting, as it turned out.

Although, that was not quite right either. The Patronus had changed, yes, but into an adolescent form that did not take a great leap of logic to connect to. Not even Harry could be so self-oblivious so as not to understand what it now implied. He would not have thought himself a fawn, but given his mother’s doe representation it made sense. She was still there, still a powerful influence, but no longer the driving force behind the spell.

Harry did not know how he should feel about that. Happy? That his father cared so deeply for him? Guilty for usurping his mother’s place in the man’s heart? Worried that Severus seemed just as unmoored at this unexpected occurrence as he was? Fiercely, possessively, gratified with the irrefutable proof of his father’s love for him?

He settled on a queasy combination of everything and was relieved when Severus used Harry’s hold on his hand to pull him forward into a tight embrace. He was somewhat startled to realise that he now reached to just under the man’s chin when it seemed not so very long ago that the Potions Master had towered over him. He highly doubted he would grow much taller, but Harry could not deny that it felt almost as if he were fastly approaching an adulthood that he was not in the least prepared to see. It was not fair that he had wasted so many miserable years with the Dursleys. To be robbed of time he could have spent being _cared_ for and _loved_.

Now... Now Harry didn’t even know if he would last another year, with the Dark Lord out there gaining power and the thing inside of him coiling darkly and corrosive. As for his father, Harry doubted there was a person on earth that Voldemort wanted dead more (aside from himself).

It was all so very _unfair_.

“I love you.” Harry mumbled into his father’s shoulder.

“And I you, son.” He replied, voice no longer hollowed out but firm with a conviction that lent Harry strength enough to pull away and wipe determinedly at his eyes with the heel of his hand before taking a fortifying breath and squaring his own shoulders.

“Can you show me the message technique now?”

He would not waste what little time he may have remaining lamenting over what might have been. Harry would instead learn and practice and prepare as best he could so that he might just stand a chance at getting through this and having far more on the other side.

His father conjured the fawn once more and the lesson continued.

~~~~~~~>

On the evening of the Order meeting, Severus apparated them onto a small, grassy square that faced a row of dingy looking townhouses that reminded Harry strongly of Cokeworth, given their rundown appearance and the strong stench of rubbish wafting on the breeze. It was oddly comforting.

Remus and Severus flanked Harry, who was under his Invisibility Cloak with an unhappy Jax grumbling beneath Harry’s denim jacket and shuddering with the effort of holding in his sneezes. Harry had offered to bring him in his satchel, but the serpent had refused to be sequestered away in a less advantageous position if trouble should arise.

They crossed the narrow street and stood on the cracked sidewalk between numbers eleven and thirteen. Harry did a double take and was about to ask, quietly, what that was about when the Headmaster materialised out of the gloomy night air and approached them.

“Ah, Severus and Remus, out for a bracing evening stroll? How lovely.”

Harry’s father said nothing, the twitch of his eyebrows was more than enough.

“Hello, Albus,” Remus instead answered for them, playing along, “yes, we thought it a good night for it.”

The old man nodded sagely and stroked his beard before leaning in conspiratorially to whisper into the space that Harry occupied under his Cloak.

“The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.” He then straightened back up and twinkled at the pair of men behind his half-moon spectacles. “Do enjoy your evening together, my boys, it is so precious in these troubling times.”

The man then swept away in a swirl of glittering pearlescent robes up the steps of a townhouse that had not been there a second earlier.

Number twelve seemed to have squeezed itself into existence between one blink and the next as if it had always stood in that exact spot. Harry felt a bit fuzzy around his temple as the knowledge imbued within the Fidelius Charm took hold of him, he didn’t remember that happening when Remus had told him about the Prince cabin in Dartmoor. Then again, he had not been staring at the space where it should occupy either. Also, there had been much more pressing matters on his mind at the time.

The door to number twelve was just as beat up as its neighbors but the knocker was that of a hissing snake’s head and the doorknob was a highly polished brass.

“Inside, it would not do to linger overlong.” His father murmured, ushering them up the steps after the Headmaster. When he tapped his wand against the peeling black paint of the door there was a series of clicks and thunks like that of bolts being drawn back from locks and the rattle of a chain falling before the door opened on well-oiled hinges.

Inside Grimmauld Place was like stepping back in time to Victorian London. There were old fashioned gas lamps lining the long hallway, illuminating the gloomy length of it in dull light, revealing many portraits (some of which were hung crookedly) and walls hung with a dark and peeling wallpaper. There was an umbrella stand next to the door in the shape of a troll’s foot, or perhaps it was an _actual_ troll’s foot, as Harry had just spotted a line of house elf heads mounted along the wall leading up a flight of stairs. There was also a glittering chandelier hanging about halfway down the long hall, it was formed of twisting silver serpents.

It was odd, Harry thought, there were spots in this place that seemed scrubbed to within an inch of their life and others that looked as if they had not been touched in decades.

“You may remove your Cloak now, Harry. Although I would exercise caution as we proceed, there are things within these walls that it would be best not to wake.” Severus nodded pointedly at a curtained-off section of wall.

Jax let out a quietly relieved hiss when Harry pulled the Cloak away and stored it in his pocket.

He waited until they had passed by the curtains a good way before asking quietly, “What is this place? It doesn’t seem exactly the right... motif for this Order.”

Remus huffed equally quietly as they walked along a dusty runner that Harry supposed had once been a magnificent Persian rug at one point, before the dust and the doxies got to it.

“You would be correct. And under other circumstances, it would be an entirely foolish idea to set up here. But times have changed, or at the very least, those left behind have.”

It was then that Sirius appeared out of a room to their left, he was grinning brightly at the sight of Harry but there was a heaviness behind his gray eyes that the rundown surroundings seemed only to emphasise.

“Harry! You made it, I’m so glad.” Sirius pulled him into a firm hug, “Apologies for the location, we haven't really had much time to clean things up around here, not that that blasted house elf will let us do much of anything ourselves to make this place liveable again. Not that it was exactly _liveable_ before, given I ran away from it soon as I could.”

“Ran away? You used to live here?” Harry glanced around again, taking in the oppressive air and general decrepitness and tried to imagine what it would look like in its prime.

“Stop insulting Kreacher, Sirius,” another voice cut in and Regulus Black appeared at his brother’s shoulder. He was shorter than Sirius by a few inches but the glare he leveled the man made up for any disparagement in height. “He only wants to do his work, it’s not his fault things fell by the wayside in here while I had him with me. Hello, Harry,” he continued, offering one of his grave nods, spreading his arms in an open gesture that took in the peeling wallpaper and dusty runner, “welcome to our home. The last true ancestral dwelling of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

“It’s not _my_ home, Reggie. You’re welcome to that honor completely.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“It is, whether you like it or not, _Siri_. You are the eldest son, it should fall to you to uphold our name.”

“Our name is shite, brother, and you know it. Nothing good ever came of being a _Black_ , nothing decent at any rate.”

“Even if that were true, and it most assuredly is not, you should then work to _improve_ our standing rather than cast away your family like a broken quill.”

Harry sent a look at his father as the brothers continued to bicker and Severus motioned them further down the hallway, towards a distinctly warmer glow.

“They’ll be at it for some time,” Remus commented, “I had forgotten how much they used to fight. Being here does not improve their dispositions on that front.”

“Sirius ran away?” Harry had never known that, but he could empathise with wanting to get away from relatives that were family only by dint of shared blood.

“Mmhmm,” Remus confirmed, “when he was sixteen, James and his parents took him in. They were quite kind people. But you should ask Sirius about it if you really wish to know the details, it’s not my place to tell.”

By that point, they had reached the warm glow that had resolved itself into a gleaming, pristine kitchen. The floors were stone and sunken down into the foundation so that you had to take a few steps to enter the room properly. There was a long wooden table taking up much of the space with a variety of people sitting around it some of which Harry knew, though most he did not. Beyond the table was a stove covered in bubbling pots and simmering pans that gave off a wonderfully delicious scent of home cooked food. An elderly house elf was fighting for space at the stove with Mrs. Weasley, who seemed just as determined to be the one cooking as him. It was such a contrast to the rest of the house that Harry found himself blinking and resisting the urge to look back and make sure he had not accidentally stumbled through a portal.

“Ah, and here are Remus and Severus, I do believe that is everybody.” Arthur Weasley spoke up, breaking off his conversation with a man Harry recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Well, as soon as Sirius and his brother return, that is. Hello, Harry, I’m glad to see you well.”

“Hello, Mr. Weasley.” Harry replied quietly, though no more words came out as he had just caught sight of a haggard looking man further along the bench and his heart had suddenly decided to try and escape through his chest out of shock.

Alastor Moody was scowling at a map of some sort, he no longer had a frantically spinning eye but a black patch that covered its vacant socket. He looked thinner than Harry was used to seeing him, thinner and with his mane of hair cut in jagged patches on one side.

That must be the real Moody, Harry tried to convince his racing heart, it was not the man that had taken him.

“It is not Crouch, Harry, I have made doubly and triply certain of that fact.” His father murmured as Harry finally forced his gaze away and gave a jerky sort of nod.

“ _Can I set him on fire anyway?_ ” Jax asked, regaining his prefered perch across Harry’s denim clad shoulders, Harry scritched under his chin.

“ _Better not, at least not with so many witnesses about._ ” Harry was joking, mostly.

“If we wish to begin this meeting any time soon, I would suggest someone go fetch them.” Remus commented as he took a vacant seat across from a dark haired woman that looked vaguely familiar, though Harry could not remember ever having met her before.

“Would you be a dear and do that, Harry?” Molly Weasley asked, finally relinquishing her spot at the stove, though Harry did not believe it permanently. “Just send them right along and if you go up the stairs, you should find Ron and the others. I think Tonks might be up there as well, if you wouldn’t mind sending her down.”

Harry glanced at his father, who nodded, squeezing his shoulder, “We can speak later. I will tell you if there is anything you need to know.”

As much as Harry wanted to stay for the meeting proper, he didn't want to be near Moody right at that moment, genuine article or not.

Back out in the long hall, Harry found not only Sirius and Regulus still bickering, but Mr. Jacobi as well, leaning against the doorframe and looking highly amused at the sight.

“Ezra? I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hey there, Harry. Yeah, I figured I may as well throw in with this lot,” he gestured down the hall with a thumb and a slanted sort of smile, “especially if I have any hope of keeping this one out of trouble.”

“Oi,” Sirius protested, finally tearing his attention away from his brother to poke at Ezra, “it wasn’t me that brewed up all those Confounding Concoctions and sent them out labeled as high-end Fire Whiskey.”

“I would _never_ ,” Ezra splayed a hand over his chest in mock offense, “they were Impotency Elixirs and you know it.”

Regulus buried his face in his hands, “There are two of them now, _two_.” He muttered despairingly to himself and Harry could do nothing but sympathise. Jax snickered snakily on his shoulder.

“They’re starting soon,” Harry said, electing to just carry on.

“Wonderful,” Regulus nodded, “if you head up to the third landing, you should find the others. Try not to touch anything, it might touch back.”

“And not nicely either.” Ezra added with a wriggle of his eyebrows, Harry refrained from rolling his eyes at the man.

Up the creaking stairs were more portraits, mostly consisting of handsome but dour looking Blacks, or else bleak landscapes. At the third landing he did, in fact, run into Ron Weasley, who was arguing with his brothers (the twin ones) about something.

“--expected to sleep with you two cracking in and out all over the bloody place!”

“Don’t be jealous, Ronikins.” One twin laughed, Harry would hazard a guess and say it was George.

“Yeah, you’ll come of age too, soon enough.” Fred ruffled Ron’s hair, it had grown shaggy since Harry had last seen the boy. Also, Fred had had to reach up to do it as Ron seemed to be in the same club of people that refused to stop growing, although the way he was hunched up and slouching Harry suspected he was not all that aware of it.

“Shut it the lot of you!” Another redhead shouted from an open doorway, Ginny Weasley. “Oh, hey, Harry. When did you get here?”

Harry gave the girl an awkward sort of wave and was relieved when she just returned it unconcernedly, no blushing or giggling or running away. It seemed she had finally gotten over that unfortunate crush. Ron spun around and grinned boyishly at him, all previous anger forgotten.

“Hey, mate, we were wondering when Snape would finally bring you by. We were all dead worried when you never came back to Hogwarts.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” Harry mumbled, “He figured it would be safest to lay low. But I should be back for the new year.” He hoped so, at least. He could not stand being trapped in that cabin for much longer. No matter how spacious the grounds or how many plants he cultivated to pass the time.

“Harry?” Another figure appeared out of the room, this one decidedly not redheaded.

“Draco?” Harry blinked as Jax gave a similarly inquisitive hiss. “What are you doing here?”

Harry had been worried about Draco, on top everything else that was currently making it difficult for him to sleep. Lucius Malfoy had been in that graveyard.

“I’ve had a slight disagreement with my parents,” Draco sniffed pointedly, inspecting his nails, “so it was decided that it would be best for me to summer with Aunt Andromeda.”

“You mean you had a screaming row with them and ran off to better pastures, cousin.” A young woman with violently pink hair and a heart-shaped face laughed as she emerged from the room to hook an arm around Draco’s stiff shoulders and give him a rough noogie.

“ _Nymphadora_...” Draco growled, attempting to extract himself from the women's clutches and only succeeding in wrinkling his clothes and messing his blond hair up further.

“Tonks, cousin, how many times must I tell you.” She winked at Harry, “Wotcher, nice to finally make your acquaintance. This one,” she shook the still struggling Draco a bit, “has only the nicest things to say about you.”

Now Draco was flushing and Harry couldn’t really hold back his little smirk. The twins laughed outright while Ron and Ginny snickered.

Draco managed to extricate himself at last and fastidiously tugged his clothes back to rights.

“Well, I best get down there if Snape’s arrived or Alastor will be on my case about tardiness again.”

She headed for the stairs, tripped on the rug, and nearly went over the banister before managing to catch herself with an unconcerned giggle.

“Whoopsie.”

Harry watched her leave with a mix of concern and amusement before turning back to Draco and walking over to him.

“Hey, are you alright?” He asked quietly as the Weasleys all retreated down the stairs after Tonks, though they stopped on the second landing.

“I’ll get Kreacher to iron them later.” Draco sniffed again, pressing his pale fingers against the offensive creases in his once pristine shirt.

“I mean about--”

“I know what you meant, Harry.” Draco cut him off sharply before closing his eyes and taking a visibly deep breath. “Apologies, that was uncouth of me. It’s not you I’m angry at, I should not take it out on you.”

“I understand. I’m glad you’re safe, Draco. We were worried.” Jax bobbed in agreement, hissing delightedly when the blond scratched under his chin and dug a wiggling white Ice Mouse from his pocket. Harry marveled that the other boy still carried a ready supply of the candy around, Jax had trained him well.

“Was that your aunt downstairs, in the kitchen? I thought she looked familiar, a bit like your mum but not as... pinched.” Harry tried to find a descriptor that would least offend, Draco might be fighting with his parents but he very clearly still loved them deeply.

“Yes, Aunt Andromeda. She was shunned from the Black family for marrying a muggleborn. Nymphadora is their daughter.”

“You two seem to get along well enough.” Harry teased and Draco rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there.

“She’s alright, for a Hufflepuff. When she’s not tripping over thin air or messing up my hair. She’s an Auror if you can believe that.” He combed rueful fingers through said blond locks before giving it up as a loss. “Andromeda was very kind to take me in, as I had never met the woman before showing up on her doorstep a month ago.”

“Why didn’t you come to us? Severus is your godfather, after all.”

“Nobody knows where you are, Harry. Not specifically.”

“You could have found out, at least enough to contact us.”

Draco sighed, drawing into himself in a very un-Draco like manner. “I didn’t want to be a bother. He has you now, and of course that would take precedence over me. I didn’t want to add to his stress.”

_You didn’t want to be proven right that the man you so looked up to might not love you as much as he used to._

Harry hesitated a moment before settling a hand on Draco’s arm, offering what mediocre comfort he could.

“My father has me, yes. But that doesn’t mean he cares for you any less. You’re family, Draco.”

Jax hissed an agreement, bobbing his head and Draco managed a stuttering sort of nod.

Thankfully, before the moment could become too fraught, the Weasleys came trumping back up the stairs.

“She’s charmed the door against them, I told you she would after the last time she caught you eavesdropping.” Ginny Weasley was complaining, pocketing a weirdly flesh colored string with a huff.

“Oi, it was Ron that couldn’t reel his in fast enough.”

“That’s because you two were stomping all over me!”

“Excuses will get you nowhere in life, Ronikins. You need to own up to your own inherent faults, only then can you overcome them.”

“Oh, shut it, George or I’ll tell mum it was you that ruined her favorite apron by using for your experiments.”

“You would _never_.” Fred gasped, before pointing a dramatically accusing finger at Draco. “This is your influence, how dare you instill such underhanded tendencies in our innocent baby brother.”

“You mean tell him to stop letting you two walk all over him and giving him the necessary advice to follow through on it?”

“Yes! Exactly!” George cried, a hand to his forehead as he feigned a fainting spell, “How dare you make him realise he has a backbone.”

Both Ron and Draco rolled their eyes at that and they all retreated from the landing and back into the room. It was a spacious thing, mostly cleared of cobwebs and dust, though the wallpaper was still peeling and there was a suspicious stain on the ceiling. The two beds that occupied it were neatly made with dark bedspreads but the tall posts that should have hung with curtains were bare. There was a large desk off to the side piled with books and a circular table in the opposing corner that held a chessboard that looked to be mid-game.

“This is the room I stay in, when Aunt Andromeda decides to sleep over or they’re busy doing Order business and don’t want to leave me alone.” He glanced around the room a little forlornly. “It’s odd, I remember visiting here as a very young child. It was slipping even then, but not nearly as bad as now. So, not really _odd_ I suppose, but more depressing. This townhouse is, was, a masterful work of magical architecture and proof of what we can accomplish given time and dedication. I hate to see it rot away, forgotten. All that history, _my_ history, is being lost.”

Harry nodded, he understood where Draco was coming from. Even if Grimmauld Place was morbid and crumbling around them, filled with Dark things and decades upon decades of ill thought layered on the walls like the peeling paper, it could not have always been so. And that did not mean that was how it should end, either.

“You should speak to Regulus, I’m sure he would appreciate someone on his side. Sirius doesn’t seem to care what happens to this place.”

“He should care,” Draco muttered darkly, a hint of his old haughty sneer sneaking through, “he is the Lord of the House of Black.”

“Trust me, if he could shed that title he would. I don’t think he ever really liked being a Black.” Just as Harry did not care for being a _Potter_ , for entirely different reasons of course. He was the last of a dead House, just as Severus was, just as it looked like Draco was as well. They were all endangered because of the actions of generations past. All they could hope to do was preserve what they could and try to adapt. To build off the foundations left by their ancestors, something better, something lasting.

To be able to do so, however, they would need to survive the coming days. The war brewing on the horizon that threatened everything they held dear.

Harry watched the Weasleys across the room, laughing and joking as if there was no monster looming in the dark. He wondered how long it would be before that laughter was silenced. What tragedies might occur to dampen their brash, bright, Gryffindorishness.

He hoped he never had to find out, even as he knew how vain that wish to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Severus Snape paid careful attention to the reports of his fellow Order members as the meeting stretched on past the first hour and into the next. Kingsley brought predictable but nevertheless troubling news of suspected dissent in the Auror ranks. Although Scrimgeour, the current Head Auror, was staunchly decorous he was also not counted among those loyal to Dumbledore. The man has not outright denied Albus’ claim of the Dark Lord's return, but neither has he assigned resources to weed out any potential infiltrators under his purview.

Kingsley has been slowly wearing away at him, though it is taking far longer than any of them would wish it.

Severus knew it to be a thing that could not be rushed. Scrimgeour was a proud man, firm in his beliefs and unwilling to bend to threat or bribery. Something that in other circumstances would be a highly valued trait but is currently allowing corruption to begin to fester like black mold at the bottom of an improperly scoured cauldron.

Fudge was still loudly proclaiming to all who would hear it that Albus is lying, that the Dark Lord will never rise. That the Headmaster is simply seeking to foster fear and panic in the masses to better present himself as a saviour to be elected the next Minister.

Fudge is an imbecile, always has been. Weak and grasping for power like a dog chasing down a muggle automobile, able to catch it by some happenstance of luck but unable to do much of anything with it and unwilling to relinquish it no matter the advisability of doing so.

The _Prophet_ has been exceedingly cutting in the past weeks. Though with his son's exemplary handling of Skeeter, the brunt of the slander had been directed at the Headmaster. Severus would be lying if he did not admit to a certain level of vindictive amusement at the occurrence. Albus had done little to engender himself to Severus over the last few years. Which, admittedly, made it somewhat easier to break himself of the habit of doing everything the man asked of him whether it aligned with Severus’ own goals or not. Guilt and self-flagellation could only bring him so far. Severus had joined the Order, did what he reasonably could for the cause of defeating his erstwhile Master. (and what Severus Snape found reasonable in the pursuit of protecting his son was an unfathomably vast well). But he would not be a mindless pawn. An unquestioning soldier.

No.

It was far past time for that.

There was no doubt that Albus was more than capable of organizing them into a formidable force. A masterful planner and strategist that would lead them to the end of this long war. He inspired strength and unity in those that could not, or choose not, to see through his carefully crafted facade. Severus would not kick that particular pixie nest, it would serve no purpose to sow disillusionment among the ranks. Not when there were so few of them as it was.

He scanned the table as that odorous Fletcher prattled on about the whispers and snippets he’d picked up in the murkier of back alleys.

Kingsley sat straight in his chair, face serious as he listened, though Severus knew it to be a carefully crafted front he’d picked up in his years as an Auror. The man did not care for Fletcher any more than Severus. The sneak thief's only saving grace being that he was there at all, though Severus himself would certainly never trust him to watch his back.

Minerva was sipping at a cup of tea, an accomplishment given how tightly her mouth was pursed.

Diggle had removed his flamboyant hat after a thorough scolding from Molly Weasley but was showing signs of restlessness as the meeting continued ever onward.

Jacobi sat next to Sirius Black, uncustomarily solemn. Severus had been at once relieved and mildly horrified to learn how close the pair had grown. It meant that Jacobi no longer pestered him with his inane flirtations, at least when Black was present (which seemed an alarmingly frequent occurrence whenever they crossed paths). Also, however, it brought together a highly volatile combination of terrible impulse control and the intelligence to put it to use. As much as Severus loathed to ascribe any amount of intellect to either party, it was a difficult thing to deny when faced with the results of such ridiculous actions.

Regulus sat next to him, as he had done for every meeting they had attended together. Severus could still hardly believe the man was alive. Had been all these long years whilst Severus suffered alone.

He had disappeared from the rooms they had... not _shared_ exactly, things between them too new, too uncertain, from the rooms they had _concurrently occupied_ two days before Severus was sent on a mission. He had assumed Regulus was given a task of his own and had not seen fit to mention so before leaving, it was not as if he owed such to Severus. It was not until he had returned himself a week later that he heard the whispers of doubt. It took far more digging than he would have expected to find out the truth of the matter. That Regulus had turned coat, that Voldemort himself had dealt with the traitor.

Severus had not expected to feel so chilled by the news, underneath his utter surprise. Regulus had always been the model son of the House of Black. Slytherin, sophisticated, willing to do what was necessary to uphold the family name. Not because he had to, but because he truly and deeply believed it was right. If one word was needed to describe Regulus Black, Severus would say it to be conviction. Once the man’s mind was set upon something, whether it be top grades in his year, serving a man that he thought aligned with his views, or convincing a wretched, impecunious half-blood that he really did wish to spend time with him, Regulus always put one hundred percent of himself into it.

So, Severus should really not be so surprised that Regulus had dedicated so much of his life to carefully dismantling the Master he once served.

The first meeting in which Regulus attended, a week after his brother had learned of his continued existence, it had caused an understandable hubbub. Minerva very nearly come close to spitting out her tea, exclaiming, “By Merlin, does _nobody_ stay dead anymore? Am I expected to see my great aunty Mavis trot in next?”

Things had thankfully settled quickly, however, given that there were more important things to worry about than Blacks falling out of the woodwork.

Regulus had kept mostly mum on the horcrux issue, discussing it only with Dumbledore and Sirius though keeping Harry’s name out of it by Severus’ request. He had an inkling that the Headmaster suspected, but the man’s efforts and resources were better spent seeking out the remaining soul jars and running the Order. Severus knew Albus, he knew the pragmatic way the man thought. He was not about to let him have the opportunity to even suggest that Harry do what he must _for the greater good_. The man was as blinded by that blasted prophecy as the Dark Lord himself. Severus point blank refused to give it any stock, not when coupled with his knowledge of what lay within Harry at that moment, not when the most obvious and easy conclusion would be _noble self-sacrifice_. Harry was no Gryffindor and Severus had long since abandoned any notion of easy paths in his own life.

He would find a viable solution before the end. Or he would cut Voldemort into pieces small enough to scatter across the entirety of the world and see if he manages to pull his undead self back together anytime in the next thousand years.

Just because the bastard was unkillable did not mean he was unstoppable.

A foot brushing his own under that table broke Severus of his dark musings, Remus widened questioning amber eyes at him as another innocuous Order member took the floor, and Severus gave the barest of head shakes. He did not need to employ any skill at Legilimency to know the wolf was worried for him, for Harry, for far too many people. Remus Lupin’s capacity for empathy would always astound Severus.

The meeting broke up not long after that, with Albus assigning a new roster of members to guard a particular hallway in the Ministry, as they had done since the first rumors of activity around it surfaced. Severus knew what lay past that door, but he doubted anyone else suspected given the byzantine nature of the Department of Mysteries. The Order only knew they were meant to guard against intrusion from the Dark Lord, to keep a powerful weapon from his grasp, and that was enough for them. Given it was one of the more tangible ways to fight against Voldemort at the moment, when the man was playing things so very low and quiet, the proverbial snake in the grass.

Severus had his own reasons for wishing to avoid the details of that topic.

He had not yet told Harry about the prophecy, about his betrayal that led to the death of Lily and James Potter. He knew he must, that it would only hurt his son further to be kept out of the loop on so important a piece of information. No matter what little stock that Severus wished to put into the babblings of madwomen. It did not matter if _he_ believed Sybill, it mattered that those with power and vendettas did.

The Dark Lord wanted the rest of that prophecy. He would want to know how he had come to be so lowered and stripped of his very flesh and bones by a mere baby. It seemed to be one of the main motivating factors of the man’s hesitancy to come fully forward at the moment.

Albus, Severus was certain, was the only person alive to know the full wording of that damning thing. He had never shared the entirety of it with Severus. When he had approached the Headmaster weeks ago about it, he had been rebuffed.

“Harry is not ready, my boy, he should not have to shoulder this burden just yet.”

Severus, through an impressive display of Occlumency and years of dealing with such dismissive imperiousness from the Headmaster, had managed not to hex the pants off of him for informing Severus that he did not know what was best to ensure the continued safety of his own son.

There was a great shuffling of boots and cloaks and parchment as the meeting brook down and Severus allowed the chaos to flow around him. They would stay for dinner, at Molly’s insistence, and also so that he could once more peruse the Black family library for research. It was a fascinating collection, preserved somewhat better than much of Grimmauld Place, though still left far too long unattended.

“We should speak later,” Regulus murmured into the cup of strong coffee Kreacher had poured him, “I may have some useful information.”

“May?”

Regulus quirked an eyebrow, there was scar bisecting it, marring the sculpted aristocratic line it once was.

“Perhaps. Depending on what you have to say on the topic.”

“Very well, after the meal then. I expect Harry will appreciate the added time away from the safehouse, even if spent surrounded by far too many gingers.” Severus said dryly, earning an amused uptick of a smirk that was mostly hidden by dark beard and gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

Severus did not know quite what to do with the somewhat bereft sensation he felt at witnessing how very different Regulus Black had become in the intervening years. It used to be that he always seemed to have a smile, genuine and bright, delighting in the cleverness of the world. The opposite of Severus himself. Perhaps that had been what drew them together, light and dark and cleverness.

What had happened to snuff that out so thoroughly?

Of course, Severus knew precisely _what_.

Remus nudged against his foot once more under the table, breaking Severus out of his brooding, spiraling, thoughts; offering a smile of his own across the space between them, far too soft and loving for the likes of Severus Snape.

But Severus had never really been one to shirk from grasping for things above his station. Suspicious, yes. Cautious, perhaps to an extreme. But ambition was something he carried within himself in spades.

~~~~~~~>

Harry followed along behind the pack of Weasleys as they were all summoned down the stairs for dinner. Ron had been catching him up on some of the things he had not known to be going on around Grimmauld Place and within the Order.

“Bill’s part of it, of course. And Charlie too, but he’s still in Romania, working to get more foreign support while Bill does the same with the goblins. Though between you and me, I think Charlie would have better luck recruiting his dragons to our side than Bill at getting a goblin to do anything to help out a particular faction of wizards. Like to remain neutral, that lot.”

“When Sirius escaped Azkaban, I’m pretty sure the goblins just let him into his vaults without any real question.” Harry nodded, he knew full well the pragmatism of goblins. And if they could not be swayed to their side, at least he felt certain enough that they would not become enemies either.

“That explains how you were able to get that broom that you _told nobody about_.” Draco sniped and Harry rolled his eyes.

“What about Percy?” He asked Ron, who let out a bit of a snicker.

“Percy’s been promoted at work, _Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic_ ,” this was said in a faux snooty accent.

“That seems like a pretty high position for someone just out of Hogwarts,” Harry mused, “even for someone as determined as Percy.”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Fred commented over his shoulder.

“Fudge isn’t really one for subtlety,” George added.

“When Percy announced his promotion, Mum near had a fit and Dad got that constipated, concerned look he gets whenever he has to say something he knows isn’t going to go over well.” Ron continued, “They had a big row, or at least Mum was really beginning to build up a head of steam about it when Regulus stepped in and congratulated Percy on securing such an auspicious position for them to watch over the Minister.”

“That shut Mum right up,” George snickered.

“I don’t know who looked more relieved, Percy or Dad.” Ginny Weasley added. “She hadn’t even let him get two words out past his announcement before assuming the worst.”

“You know,” Draco cut in, a contemplative look on his face, “I always thought if there were ever to be a Weasley in Slytherin, it would be Percy. He practically bled ambition all through school.”

The twins cackled, though softly as they had reached the ground floor.

Harry could not help but agree with Draco. He strongly suspected the only reason Percy Weasley was in Gryffindor was familial loyalty.

In the kitchen, most of the Order members had vacated, including to Harry’s relief, both Dumbledore and Moody. Tonks had remained, though not Andromeda, as had a pile of dirty rags in the vague shape of a person that the twins made an immediate beeline towards.

Harry and Draco gravitated towards where Severus was speaking quietly with Remus and Regulus while the others found seats of their own along the table.

“How was the meeting?” Harry asked his father.

“As expected.” Severus murmured. “Little has changed, even as rumors continue to spread and shadows creep in the dark.”

“How long do you think it will be before the Dark Lord makes another move?”

Jax gave a displeased hiss at the idea and Harry stroked his neck.

“I do not know. It depends upon a great many things that we should not discuss just now.”

“Too right about that, Severus Snape.” Molly Weasley bustled over, floating a large tureen of fragrant soup before her. “Order business should not be talked about with those not in the Order, no offense meant Harry, dear. You are simply too young to be worrying about these things, sit down now. Dinner will be starting in a moment.”

Harry scowled at the woman’s retreating back, his father wearing a matching expression. The Dark Lord cared little for the ages of his victims, doubly so in Harry’s case.

“Ignore her,” Regulus murmured, unfolding an embroidered napkin across his lap, “she means well, but has a tendency towards bullheadedness that is best to sidestep than attempt to match head on.”

Now he and his father were giving matching snorts, the act of which seemed to amuse both Remus and Draco a great deal. It was solid advice, Harry was certain. Even if Mrs. Weasley’s attitude did chafe. Harry finally took a seat, next to Remus and across from Regulus with Draco on his other side, just as a commotion started up near the stove.

“Yous will be sitting now and leaving Kreacher to his work!” The old house elf was squeaking creakily at Molly Weasley, apparently determined to in fact match that bullheadedness full stop.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this alone, you know.” She brandished a dripping spoon at the elf, her other hand firmly on one hip.

“Are yous suggesting that Kreacher is incapable of doing his job?! Kreacher serves the House of _Black_ , Kreacher will not be bossed around by a _Prewett_.”

Draco sucked in a short breath that Harry strongly suspected was to prevent himself from laughing at the sheer afront now gracing the woman’s face.

“ _Kreacher_ ,” Regulus called in a tone that spoke of being used to such occurrences, “Mrs. Weasley is a guest in our home. And not so far removed from our name, if you will recall. Now please, I believe dear Severus’ cup has run dry.”

“Yes, Master Regulus.” The elf scowled at Molly but popped across the room with tea service in the next moment, though Harry could hear him muttering not so quietly under his breath about Prewetts and the lack of children produced from that marriage and how Lucretia could have made a much better match.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” Draco said as Kreacher poured him a cup as well, adding precisely two sugars and a drop of cream without prompting. “I have some ironing that will need doing later.”

“Of course, Mr. Draco, Kreacher is being delighted to serve a _proper_ member of the House of Black. I’s be doing that as soon as you wish.”

Draco nodded primly even as Harry saw Sirius rolling his eyes a ways down the table.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at his father as the elf retreated after serving both Harry and Remus far less devotedly.

“He is a bit particular,” Regulus answered for him, “I’m afraid it may be somewhat my fault. I’ve kept him with me since Mother died a decade ago. Of course we couldn’t stay here, I was on the run after all. House elves go a bit funny when there isn’t actually a _house_ for them to take care of. My Mother had also not instilled the most sane of tendencies in him before her passing, either. We’ve made do, however. And I believe it has been good for him to be back here, there is only so much devote ministration a single man can endure.” He scratched at his chin as more food began piling along the table. “To tell the truth, I only grew this beard to give him something to fuss over.”

“It suits you.” Severus said, sipping his tea, a cup that had been as carefully prepared as Draco’s.

Regulus blinked, scratched his chin again, the motion that of an unconscious tick, before nodding. “Thank you.”

Harry let Jax have a taste of his own tea as they all began serving themselves from the array of food. The end of the table containing the majority of Weasleys and the pile of rags that Harry came to learn was one Mundungus Fletcher, was much louder than their own demur half. The only real crossover in that aspect being when Fletcher held up a silver goblet with the Black crest on it and examined it with a critical eye.

“Oi, Sirius, this real silver, mate?”

Before his godfather could answer, Regulus had cut across the table with a voice sharp enough to slice steel, “If you so much as think of pilfering even a single spoon from this house, Fletcher, you will regret that choice for the rest of your short life.”

Fletcher had let out a strangled sort of chuckle and put the goblet back down.

“Lay off him, Reggie.” Sirius sniped, which devolved them both into another bickering match that lasted well into dessert.

Harry could not help but notice that Kreacher served Sirius the thinnest slice of tart, rivaled only by that given to Mrs. Weasley.

“It’s usually like this,” Remus commented, an edge of fondness to his voice, as if the bickering were a balm, proof of life and meaning. “They’ll run out of steam eventually, or one of them will leave off in a huff to sulk.”

“It’s not _sulking_ , Moony,” Sirius countered, “it’s artful rumination.”

“It’s adolescent, is what it is, Padfoot. Need I remind you that you haven't been fifteen for a very long time?”

“There’s no need to be cruel, now.” Sirius pouted as Ezra laughed.

It was nice, Harry thought as he fed Jax bits of tart crust, to be around people again. Even if much of it was bickering, or more boisterous than he would usually prefer. He hoped that his father would bring him to Grimmauld Place more often as the summer went on. If only to keep the isolation from completely consuming him.

Once more, Harry dreaded what lurked on the horizon. Though he supposed, if they managed to work together, they might just pull through after all.


	4. Chapter 4

After dinner, the last of the lingering Order members that were not staying the night at Grimmauld Place left. Including the pile of rags that was Mundungus Fletcher and Tonks. The later of which tripped over the troll foot umbrella stand, sending it and her crashing to the floor. Which was how Harry was introduced to the irascible portrait of Walburga Black.

“ _FILTH! MUDBLOODS! TRAITORS TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE MY HOME?! OUT! GET OUT!_ ”

“Shut it, you old hag!” Sirius yelled, grabbing for one end of the heavy, moth-eaten curtain and struggling against some unseen force to pull it closed.

“ _SIRIUS ORION BLACK! SHAME ON YOU! I SHOULD HAVE DROWNED YOU AS A INFANT!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius rolled his eyes at the dramatic portrait, the woman painted there was clutching at her neckline with one claw-like hand, her face twisted in fury.

“Calm down, mother.” Regulus told her, his own voice equally as exasperated as his brother's, taking ahold of the other side of the curtain.

Walburga’s harsh face morphed from apoplectic to anguished at the sight of her youngest, which Harry noticed allowed her to maintain her ear-splitting volume in spite of the change in tone.

“ _REGULUS, MY SWEET LITTLE BOY, MY PERFECT SON, YOU WERE TAKEN FROM ME TOO SOON! WHY DO YOU RETURN NOW? TO TORMENT ME? TO TWIST THE KNIFE OF YOUR LOSS STILL FURTHER? IS THIS YOUR DOING SIRIUS?!_ ” And there was the anger back again. “ _YOU WERE ALWAYS JEALOUS OF YOUR BROTHER! IT’S YOUR FAULT HE WAS TAKEN FROM ME! USELESS WRETCH OF A BOY! BLOOD TRAITOR! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU! SHAME OF MY LINE--_ ”

The rest of the tirade was muffed as the Black brothers finally managed to close the curtain on the portrait.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s that bloody troll’s foot. It gets me every time.” Tonks apologised meekly, regaining her feet with the help of Mr. Weasley.

“It’s fine, cousin,” Sirius waved her off with a smile that was slanted a bit too much to sell the point fully, “I stopped caring what that old bint said when I was seven and she poisoned my pet puffskein because I used the wrong fork at a dinner party.”

“She _never_ ,” Tonks gasped softly.

Sirius shrugged, “Usual stuff around here. But it may be best to vacate the area so we don't wake her back up, yeah?”

“ _Wow, that painting is almost as bitchy as your aunt._ ” Jax hissed as the last of the stragglers managed to leave without further incident.

Harry let out a surprised snort, “ _They would probably get along if they weren't so diametrically opposed._ ”

“ _That would be a fucking nightmare,_ ” Jax snickered snakily, “ _they would have hateful little tea parties and everything._ ”

Harry had to hold in his own snickers at the image as he allowed his godfather to steer them back out of the hall and into a side room that was mostly free of dust if still obviously run down. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, the lounges places in front of it needed to be reupholstered but were serviceable enough. Kreacher was setting down a gleaming silver tray covered in tiny cakes and cups of coffee and tea on a low round oval table that was lacquered such a deep black to almost seem a void of space in the shape of a coffee table.

Above the fireplace was a long painting of a dark and twisting forest with a thestral curled up under its own leathery wings and sleeping beneath what pale moonbeams managed to creep their way through the gnarled branches.

It was an oddly peaceful sight.

“You know, it took me until I was nine to realised there was something in that portrait besides forest.” Sirius had joined him at the fire, still with a hint of that slanted, maudlin smile. “That was when Uncle Aldebaran kicked off into his serving of lime tart. Also poison. A favorite of mother’s.”

“It translates into images of them too?” Harry asked eyeing the painting closer, feeling it was probably the safer part of that statement to inquire about.

“Sure, when thestral blood is mixed into the paint and hair weaved through the canvas.” Sirius did not seem too thrilled about the vague gruesomeness of that knowledge, but Harry thought it fascinating. Magic was always finding ways to surprise him.

A glance around the room showed Draco, Remus, Ezra, and Mr. Weasley with cups in hand. Mrs. Weasley was not with them, Harry supposed she had stayed in the kitchens, unwilling to give ground there just yet. Harry’s father was speaking lowly with Regulus in the corner, both grim-faced.

“It’s odd,” Sirius confessed, speaking more to the flames licking the logs in front of them than to Harry, “being back here. _Regulus_ being here. Alive. We truly believed him dead, yet there he stands; my baby brother. I failed him, mother was right about that at least. I should have been looking after him instead of my own selfish skin.”

Harry felt lost, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that, if anything at all. Sirius, he had learned, would blame all of the world's problems on himself if given half a chance. Doubly so, it seemed, when it came to his brother.

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that. Have you talked to him about it?” Harry fiddled with the cuff of his jacket, awkward and discomfited by the raw emotion being displayed by his godfather.

“Blacks don’t talk about their feelings. We quietly plot revenge, or ostracize, or perhaps if we are feeling exceptionally slighted we’ll do away with all propriety and obliterate the offender on the spot before continuing on with tea and crumpets.”

“Well, I thought you didn’t like being a Black, anyway. Why stop rebelling against tradition now?”

Sirius barked out a laugh, ruffling Harry’s perpetually messy locks.

“Why indeed, sprog? You got me there.”

Severus approached them at that point, saving Harry from having to devise a change of subject.

“Harry,” his father said quietly, “I must speak with Regulus about an important matter. We will be in the library. I expect it will not take too long, although there are a few books that I wish to acquire while we are here that may be difficult to locate, depending on the temperament of the shelves at present.”

“They do tend to get a bit bitey,” Sirius commented, not sounding the least put out about this fact. Although that may have had to do with Severus being on the other end of a displeased House of Black library.

“That’s okay,” Harry said, “I’d like to visit with Draco and the others a bit anyway.”

“Very well, I shall return shortly.” He then turned his dark eyes on Sirius, “Do attempt to keep the house from injuring my son in the meantime.”

Sirius just rolled his eyes and waved the Potions Master off, which was far less caustic a reaction than Harry would have expected even a few months ago. Though his father’s initial comment had not really been truly biting to begin with, which was equally pleasing to notice. An accord had been struck between the two at some point, and while Harry doubted they would ever truly be friends, or even _like_ one another, it was nice that they were not constantly at each other’s throats.

Harry and Sirius drifted away from the fire and towards the group around the lounges, which had expanded to include the Weasley children as well. Fred and George were whispering conspiratorially together, but Ron and Draco had started up a game of wizard chess that Harry just knew would not end well for the blond.

Jax slithered down coil in Draco’s lap, primarily for the scritches, but also so he could watch all the moving pieces with mischievous purple eyes.

Harry settled in with some tea of his own to watch.

~~~~~~~>

Severus followed Regulus Black up the familiar path of creaking steps and ornate trappings to the library. It was a route he had taken many times in the past weeks as they researched into ways of freeing his son from the abhorrent scrap of soul residing within him. They had had aggravatingly little luck on that front, but Severus was far too motivated to cease looking. There was a solution, it just needed finding. And so Severus would do so.

He would settle for nothing less than scouring every last, vile drop of his former master out of Harry.

To do otherwise would be unconscionable.

The Black family library was a large, circular space filled with stacks upon stacks of tomes, very few of which were anything resembling innocent in nature. It was a fascinating collection that in any other circumstance Severus would have gladly devoured. But it was hard to find any sort of pleasure in such things at the moment.

Hanging from the center of the high ceiling was another tinkling, silver chandelier that had been polished to gleaming. The same could not be said of the wooden floors where paths in the dust had been made clear by the passing of robes and feet that had not tread such ways in a decade. Save, as Regulus had informed him, the very few times he had returned himself over the years to pick up a tome here and there. Never staying long for fear of discovery.

“You know what Dumbledore has them guarding at the Ministry.” Regulus said, it was not a question.

“I have a surmisal.” Severus conceded, casting a privacy spell around them. The walls were always listening. “It is an issue that concerns Harry, and one that I have not yet figured out how to approach him about.”

“Your son, or Dumbledore?”

Severus snorted, “Albus knows full well my feelings on the matter. No, it is a... delicate situation.”

Regulus leaned back against a darkly lacquered oaken desk and folded his arms across his chest, leveling Severus with a look that whilst it lacked the particular potency of Mind Magic was no less piercing for it.

“You’re afraid.” Again, it was not a question and Severus found himself quite unable to deny it. “Severus, what could possibly have you this rattled? I’ve seen you with the boy, I can not think of a single thing that would change that.”

“This very well may.” He did not know why he was admitting to the twisting, aching, miasma of grief and fear and guilt that had taken up residence in his stomach weeks, months, _years_ ago. He had thought the feeling dissipated, soothed over by the adoption, by every day he got to spend with his son.

But it had only been hiding, lying in wait for Severus to grow complacent before rearing its ugly head once more, concurrent with the renewed burn of the Dark Mark on his arm.

Regulus was shaking his head, it was strange still, to see his hair so short when before it had tumbled down in the sort of elegant waves that Severus could never hope to emulate even if he wished to (which he very much did not). His fingers still have the shadow of a sense memory of running through that hair, awkward and uncertain as he’d been then, unworthy. Or so Severus had believed.

“Love,” Regulus spoke again, “the kind that you two share, it’s strong enough to weather whatever you may think will tear him from you. Trust me, I know from familial love and the lack thereof, conditional and unconditional alike. You will be fine.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done. Harry will hate me once he knows, and deservedly so.”

“Even if that were true, and I highly doubt it is, would _you_ still love him?”

“Unquestionably. I would die for him if need be.” Severus answered at once, the truth of it ringing against his ribcage in an almost painful ache.

“And this matter, this information you have kept from him? It will make him safer to know? Better prepare him for what’s to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what you must do, and quickly. Before the Dark Lord tires of hiding and makes a real move. Do not cower behind your fear, that will do him no good.”

“I never _cower_.” Severus sneered, folding his own arms across his still aching chest.

“That you do not,” Regulus smirked, “it was always something I admired about you. Which is why I find myself so worried to see it here.”

Severus cut his gaze to the nearest bookcase, seeing the spines by not assimilating any of the names found there as he pondered the situation with cold logic. He knew what needed doing, Regulus was correct about that. And the speed at which it should be done. Severus was imprudently leaning far too much into his own emotionality. He needed to protect his son and if the path to that goal led to the boy hating him... well, Severus was more than acquainted with that particular reaction to his person.

“There is a prophecy,” he spoke at last after the silence between them had stretched well past its limits, “one that concerns the Dark Lord and Harry. He wishes to retrieve it from the Department of Mysteries.”

“Ah,” Regulus nodded, “am I to assume he has not heard it in its entirety? Why else wish to collect the copy?”

“Correct. What portion he did know led to his demise, I expect he wishes to ascertain why that came about.”

“How do you know all of this?” Regulus asked, tilting his head in that particular way he had when puzzling out a problem, not giving Severus time to answer before continuing. “It was you that delivered it, wasn’t it? Did you know it would lead to his downfall?”

“No.” Severus bit out, the acrid, twisting thing inside him pressing into every corner and digging thorny claws into him. “I passed him the information with the full intent of pleasing the bastard, of proving my worth.”

“We were all misled, Severus.” Regulus, unrelenting in his quest to absolve Severus of the sins of his past, an insurmountable task if ever there was one. “Who was the prophecy spoken to?”

“Who do you think?”

Regulus snorted, a frustrated noise, “That old man is doing his utmost to break each and every one of my few remaining straws. Am I to also assume that he refuses to share the entirety of it with you? Or even just Harry?”

“Correct again.”

“Well, we will just have to go get it ourselves, then.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow, surprise temporarily outweighing everything else at that. Regulus smirked again.

“I have contacts in the Department of Mysteries. I was going to be an Unspeakable, if you recall, before everything went sideways. I’ve worked with a few of them over the years, anonymously enough to keep my identity hidden but enough also to build up a few favors.”

“So you could get us into the Department.”

“Technically,” Regulus scratched his beard, “ _Harry_ could do that on his own. Prophecies can only be retrieved by those they are about. So he could just demand to be taken to his. But my way is more subtle and won’t result in every Death Eater spying out the place to know what we’re up to.”

“When can we do this?” Severus asked, not _How long do I have left with my son?_.

“Give me a few days to make contact, they’re a skittish lot. That should give you time to speak with Harry about it.”

Severus did not say any more, simply nodded. Regulus allowed it and they spent a further twenty minutes searching for the books he had come to the library for. The only incident occurring when one of the shelves kept shuffling around the collection, making it difficult to find anything. Truly, Severus did not often have trouble searching the stacks in this room. They seemed to sense his intent and approve of the burning emotion behind it.

Back downstairs it was an oddly soft sight, with so many people gathered to simply enjoy one another’s company. It was not a situation that Severus himself would ever seek out intentionally, but he could not deny that it was good to see Harry unwind somewhat from the tightly coiled spring he had been since the night of the Third Task.

The boy’s serpent was currently chasing an escaped rook from the chess game between his godson and the youngest Weasley boy and Harry was watching with amusement clear in his green eyes.

Remus was speaking with Arthur about something, but he spared Severus a far too soft look at his return to the room. And there was that ache again, different but no less powerful in its presence.

“You should stay the night,” Regulus said, laying a hand on his forearm, “there are rooms enough to spare. You and Lupin can take one, I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind sharing with Draco.”

His knee jerk reaction was to refuse outright, but another look at his son and the tension that had left his shoulders and Severus found himself nodding. It would give him time to search the library again.

“Very well, one night.”

“I’ll have Kreacher air out a room, he’ll be thrilled.”

That settled, Severus commandeered a seat away from the majority of the others and opened one of his newly acquired books. He would talk to Harry when they were back at the cabin, there was no point in ruining his son’s night.


	5. Chapter 5

Grimmauld Place made noises in the dark. Creaks and groans and the hint of whispers from the shadows. The susurrations could have just as easily been explained away as the portraits talking to one another or as something more sinister, lurking just out of sight. There was a weightiness to the atmosphere that made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end if he let it get to him. 

It helped sharing a room with another living soul. Hearing Draco breathe, quiet and familiar as he slept in the other bed, lent comfort in the dark. Jax was a warm presence against his side, coiled as he was in the space created by Harry’s curled form.

The townhouse seemed to resonate with its own energy, low and subtle and creeping, but there all the same.

It was a bit like the Borrow, though that place had been alive with warmth and brightness and a welcoming aura, it was undeniably steeped in magic. A thing nearly made unto its own.

Harry wondered vaguely, given proper time and attention, if Spinner’s End might end up the same way. How many years of magical occupation did it take to instill such things in a home? Or was it a matter of concerted effort, care given into the residence?

Harry would very much like to try and find out. As small and dingy as the row house was compared to Grimmauld Place, or even their hidden Prince cabin, it _was_ home. And Harry thought that maybe the idea of cementing that idea a little more tangibly would be worth the effort and time involved. 

It would bear thinking on and perhaps speaking with Severus about. Although his father had been acting more withdrawn than usual when he sent Harry and Draco up the stairs to bed after the blond’s third loss against Ron Weasley. He had come back from his conversation with Regulus brooding and tense. Not an uncommon sight in the past weeks, but never one that Harry wished to see.

Sighing, Harry curled into a tighter ball around the sleeping Jax and began the familiar process of clearing his mind before sleep. The last thing he needed was nightmares. He would speak with his father in the morning, see if there was anything he could do to ease the man’s burden. It was not a high hope, but Harry was nothing if not tenacious.

~~~~~~~>

The next morning, despite the previous night resolve, Harry could not find an opportunity to talk to his father alone. Or even with somewhat appropriate company. Draco seemed to wish to be adhered to his side like the Permanent-Sticking Charm holding Walburga Black’s portrait to the wall. Usually, this would annoy Harry, but number twelve was not a place one should wander around alone and Harry was not so cruel as to leave his friend to the mercy of so many Weasley children all alone. Something he had gathered the other boy had been forced to deal with for much of the summer already when he was not at his aunt’s house. Also, Harry himself was a little hungry for company in turn. He had been going fairly stir crazy at the cabin and it was nice to have a change of pace.

Harry would not have minded Draco being privy to the conversation he had planned to have with Severus, but the man had disappeared into the Black family library after only a single cup of tea and barely a bite of toast at breakfast. Harry had made to follow but had been waylaid by Mrs. Weasley and shanghaied into clearing out one of the many disused sitting rooms with the rest of the Weasley brood.

It was a battle on multiple fronts, with Mrs. Weasley and Sirius attempting to clear away as much as possible while Kreacher undid much of their work or else loudly shooed people away from dusting and scrubbing as it was not proper for guests to be doing so. The elf barely listened to Sirius when he tried to argue, only relented when given very specific orders. It was all very chaotic and Harry mostly stayed back and watched with the Weasley twins as everything unfolded before them. Draco, unsurprisingly, took Kreacher’s side in things.

By the time lunch rolled around the sitting room was almost livable again, or at the very least free of doxies and cobwebs. A long glass display cabinet against one wall had half of its contents polished to a high sheen, whilst the rest was in a jumble from the many attempts to remove its contents only to have them returned by the irate house elf and his young human accomplice.

Harry father did not come down for the meal of delicate little sandwiches and floral tea that Kreacher whipped up for them by the mountain (as the Weasley’s all seemed to have bottomless pits in place of stomachs). Remus assured him he would take some up to the Potions Master, however, which eased Harry’s mind.

After lunch, Harry and Draco were able to slip away from Molly Weasley’s watch and the blond caught him up more thoroughly on what he’d missed.

“When you didn’t return after the Third Task, everyone feared the worst. I’ve never seen Blaise so blatantly emotional, it was unnerving.” Draco might have sounded accusing if he did not look quite so shaken himself. “When Uncle Severus finally returned and told us that you were okay, it was... we were very relieved.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologised for what felt like the thousandth time, and Draco waved it away just as he had all the other ones, “I wrote as soon as I could.”

“We know, he knows.”

“That doesn’t make it much better.” Harry found himself admitting, wishing Blaise was there now so he could tell him in person. Or maybe just so he could have the other boy pull him close and they might not even have to talk at all.

“Dumbledore took advantage of the news, of course.”

“Oh?” That Harry had not been aware of, though he was unsurprised to hear it.

“He gave a speech to the entire school, announcing the Dark Lord’s return. You featured prominently as a symbol of resistance.”

“Of course I did,” Harry said dryly, as Jax let out a derisive hiss.

“You know,” Draco mused, leaning against one of the empty posts of his bed and folding his arms, “I find myself more and more mystified by the fact that Dumbledore was not placed in Slytherin.”

“Perhaps he was not always so conniving,” Harry shrugged, “people change. Who knows what the old man was like when he went to school.”

“I heard a rumor,” Draco smirked, leaning forward in that way he had when sharing the juiciest of gossip, “that back in the day, before their big duel, that Dumbledore and Grindelwald were actually friends.”

“Really?” Harry quirked an eyebrow, Draco nodded.

“ _More than_ , even.”

“Well, that would explain a great deal.” Harry snorted, “Where did you hear this rumor?”

“My father, I heard him talking to my grandfather about it years ago; before he died of dragon pox.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Draco seemed to want to take them back. Hunching up when he’d been nearly relaxed and dropping his gaze to the floor.

Hary waffled on what to say, but Draco spoke up again before he could quite figure out what to vocalize.

“I know he was there that night, my father.”

“Draco...”

“No. Don’t try to spare my feelings, Harry.” Draco cut him off, pushing away from the bedpost and pacing a tight circle in from of him. “He was there. He _wanted_ to be there. Or at the very least was too cowardly to refuse the call when it came. Either way, I couldn’t stay. Not knowing... not when I can see... _how_ can he be so blinded?”

Harry felt his insides clench at the pure anguish in the other boy’s tone. The betrayal, the confusion. Draco had come so very far since their first year.

“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully. “I’m glad that you aren’t, though.”

Draco didn’t say anything else and they spent the majority of the rest of the afternoon in silence, but together.

~~~~~~~>

“Harry, there is a matter we must speak about.” Severus murmured a few days later.

They were back at the cabin, sequestered in the sitting room with cups of tea and stacks of books in various states of wear cluttering up the coffee table. Harry had been flipping through an old tome on Mind Magic and some if its more esoteric uses, hoping for some aid in his work to isolate the scrap of errant soul within him. He had made enough progress that Harry was fairly certain he could feel out where the oily shadow of it was, but frustratingly little towards forcing it away. He was pretty sure that it was isolated enough from his mind by his years of Occlumency that it could not influence him an exorbitant amount, but Harry was still wary of any strong emotions that rose up within him. Especially those of a negative nature, fearful that they may be the horcrux digging into him deeper.

They were alone in the cabin at the moment, Remus off on a mission for the Order and Regulus presumably at number twelve. Sirius had been by that morning but had not been able to stay long.

“Has something happened?” Harry felt his fingers tighten in the edges of his book, Jax perking up from his place by the fire.

“Not as such.” His father demurred and Harry let out a slow breath but could not quite loosen his grip on the tome just yet. Not when Severus still looked so deadly serious, his skin gone sallow in a way that Harry had not seen since the night at the graveyard and even longer before that.

“Then what? Is it about,” he managed to release one corner of the book to gesture at his forehead where the lightning bolt scar sat, conspicuous under his fringe of messy hair.

“In part. Perhaps not the way you may think, however.”

“In what way, then?”

Dread was creeping up Harry’s spine, an all too familiar sensation in the past weeks.

“It is difficult to explain,” his father began, before sighing and shaking his head, “no. Not _difficult_ , so much as arduous. I... fear what you may think after hearing it.”

There was too much raw honesty in those words for Harry to quite absorb fully. Whatever Severus wished to tell him, it would not be anything even close to resembling pleasant. Not when his father could not even manage to meet his eye whilst dancing around what he meant to say. The heavy book fell from Harry’s suddenly shaking grip, making a solid thud against the polished wooden floor. Jax startled at the sound, slithering over and climbing his way up into Harry’s lap.

“What...?” He swallowed, but no more words came out and he just looked across at Severus as the man covered his own eyes with an equally trembling hand.

“You are aware that the Headmaster is assigning members of the Order to guard something, yes?” The non-sequitur threw Harry enough that he managed a quiet affirmative. “It is a prophecy, in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Alright?” Harry drew out the world into a question.

“The prophecy concerns the Dark Lord, he very much wishes to hear it.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Harry asked, already dreading the answer but needing to hear Severus say it.

“It concerns you as well. At least, that is the general consensus around those who have heard it.”

“Of course it does.” Harry hugged Jax close as the serpent spit out his own displeasure in far more colorful language. “What does this prophecy say, exactly?”

“I... am not entirely certain.” His father said after a long moment of heavy silence. He had finally lowered his hand, only to reveal black eyes damp with unshed but nevertheless wholly unexpected tears. “You shall find out today, very soon in fact. Regulus will be here momentarily to escort us to the Ministry, covertly. There, all should be made clear.”

The last words were more of a rasp than anything as his father pushed up from his chair and exited the room at a swift trot. Harry watched him go, confused and a little frightened. He had not seen Severus so openly torn up in a very long time, if ever. He had a feeling there was much more to the story that he was not being told but Harry was not about to go chasing after the Potions Master when he so obviously wished to be anywhere that Harry was not. He could be patient. If there was one thing he knew for certain about his father, it was that the man never lied to him. It may take some time, but Harry would find out the truth from him eventually.

Regulus arrived not long after that, dressed in dark robes of a fine cut and his usual grim expression. By the time Harry had slipped on his boots and pocketed his Cloak, Severus had appeared. Still pale and drawn but otherwise as intimidatingly severe as usual.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, asking a silent but nonetheless obvious question, to which Harry’s father gave a sharp, negative jerk of his head. Regulus frowned even deeper than normal but did not say anything other than, “Shall we?”

Side-Along Apparition, whilst better than portkeys was still not Harry’s favorite way to travel. Especially when it landed him in dirty alleyways, narrowly avoiding a questionable puddle that should not exist on so warm a summer day.

“One moment,” Regulus halted them, glancing around the ally in the same way that both Harry and Severus were already doing. Paranoia was a good habit to fall into these days, “I need to make a couple adjustments.”

Harry watched, fascinated, as the man touched his wand first to his own nose, elongating it slightly. Then changed his eyes from the stormy gray so prominent in the Black family to a more demure brown. He left his hair and beard alone, for the most part, only adding in a touch of salt and pepper to give the appearance of greater majority. 

It was quickly and skillfully done, obviously well practiced. Harry had seen Tonks change her features at will to the amusement of many at the dinner table of Grimmauld Place. But this seemed somehow more impressive than a natural born ability. Not to say that Tonk’s mastery of her own skill wasn’t something to be impressed by, it very clearly was. But she did have a bit of an advantage. Just as Harry did with his ability to talk to snakes. He had not ever had to work at it and wondered idly if it was even something that could be taught.

“This way, we’ll take the street entrance. I would suggest you don that Cloak of yours now, Harry. You can take it off once we’re past all the hubbub. No need to advertise your presence.”

Harry agreed on the prudence of that suggestion and did so.

“ _Ah, shit. I swear-- achoo-- I'm gonna set this fuckin’-- achoo-- thing on fire one of these days._ ” Jax grumbled between sneezes as he burrowed beneath Harry's robes in an effort to escape the heady magic of the Cloak while still remaining in a good position to strike at any potential threats.

Harry absently patted the lump made by him but was too concerned watching his father’s face turn steadily more stony with every step they took towards the Ministry.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak into the Ministry of Magic. Well, Harry was the only one really sneaking, if you did not count Regulus giving a false name at the desk and providing a wand that Harry strongly suspected was not his actual preferred one. It did not bode well for the coming war that security was so lax around such an important complex. Dumbledore had made the announcement of Voldemort’s return months ago, there should be signs of heightened awareness, or at least a more thorough screening process for all that entered the Ministry proper.

Of course, the public would have to _believe_ the Headmaster for that to happen.

Harry had made a few passing glances at the _Daily Prophet_ since his isolation, and it was not being any definition of kind to Albus Dumbledore. Not that Harry would care under normal circumstances, let that rag drag the old man’s name through the mud all it liked. But when doing so put so many people in danger out of ignorance or an unwillingness to hear what they did not want to hear, no good would come of it. People were going to get hurt before this was over and far more than need be.

The rattly ride down the elevator was crowded until they reached the very bottom floors.

Harry shivered under his Cloak as they stepped out and faced down a narrow corridor lined in torches that gave off a cold blue light. He had been here before, once. For the trial that had landed him in his father’s care, somehow he doubted what he would find this time to be anything near as pleasant on the outcome.

“I think we are far enough along that you may remove your Cloak.” Regulus murmured. Harry did so, to his serpent’s relief.

Of course, about halfway down the corridor, they came across another person. A witch, shorter even than Harry. She had a toad-like face and was wearing a frankly unnecessary amount of pink.

“Oh, deary me, is that you Severus? Whatever are you doing down here?” The woman had a high, simpering sort of voice that grated against Harry’s ears. His father did not look pleased in the least to be addressed so informally by her.

“A personal matter, Undersecretary Umbridge,” Severus murmured, his tone icy and dismissive, “if you will excuse us.”

“What could you need to do down here?” The witch asked noisily, “I, myself, am on an errand for the _Minister_.” She said this with an air of self-importance so thick that Harry was mildly surprised it was no visible.

“As I said, it is a personal matter.” Severus brushed her off, attempting to move past the short woman, Harry and Regulus following.

“ _Hem-hem_.”

Jax popped his head out of Harry’s collar at the odd noise as both of them looked back at the witch. Her eyes had widened, making her resemblance to a toad all the more uncanny.

“Is that Harry Potter with you, Severus? I am sure the Minister would not be best pleased to know he is here. After spreading such nasty rumors.”

“ _Snape_.” Harry bit out before his father could say anything, “My name is Harry _Snape_. And _I_ do not see how it is any business of yours where I do and do not go.”

“Well,” Umbridge simpered, her wide mouth pulling sideways in a condescending sneer, “it’s a good thing your opinion doesn’t matter as much as my own then, isn't it, little boy?”

A frisson of anger raced up Harry’s spine, hot and biting, how _dare_ she?

Before he could shoot back a vitriolic response his father had settled an arm over his shoulders and turned him away from the witch, forcing them to continue down the corridor.

“Do not let that invidious woman under your skin, she would simply love us to cause trouble enough to get the authorities involved.” Severus murmured once they were far enough down the corridor.

“Who is she?” Harry glanced behind them, but the pink toad was gone, presumably to the upper levels.

“Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. A grasping, spiteful witch who delights in ruining the lives of those she deems lesser than herself.”

“And she had quite a high opinion of herself, at that.” Regulus added with a snort.

“She was the one to push through all the anti-werewolf legislation a couple of years ago.” Severus continued, the venom clear in his voice.

“ _What a bitch,_ ” Jax hissed, “ _she’s giving toads a bad name._ ”

Harry scratched under the snake’s chin in agreement.

“Talking about Dolores, love?” A voice called from the shadow of a doorway they had turned into, Remus stepped forward and dispelled the Disillusionment Charm from around his person. “I thought I saw an ungodly amount of pink waddle by a few moments ago.”

“We had an unfortunate encounter, yes. So it would be best not to dawdle out here.”

“My contact should be coming any moment now,” Regulus said, just as the heavy door they were gathered before creaked open and a slim wizard with dark skin and a receding hairline appeared before them. He had very blue eyes.

“Oswyn,” The man addressed Regulus, “exactly on time.”

“I do strive for punctuality, Selasi. Shall we?”

“I was under the impression there would be only three of you, I see five before me.”

Harry glanced behind them swiftly, afraid that someone might have snuck up on them before realising the man was counting Jax.

“My dear friend Remus was merely accompanying us to your door,” Regulus answered smoothly, seemingly unconcerned by the scrutiny, “the serpent is the boy’s familiar, they are one, as it should be.”

“As it should be.” The man repeated the phrase as if it were some sort of mantra, nodding his head slowly in acquiesce. “Very well, this way.”

Harry gave Remus a little uncertain wave and the man smiled warmly at him in return. He wondered if Remus knew more about the prophecy, or if he was just following orders by standing guard. Either way, he was left behind as the heavy door closed behind them. The room before him was large and circular, everything a dark black except for the cold blue flames of the candles set between each identical, unmarked and handless door that lined the entirety of the curved walls.

Selasi drew his wand and gave it a complicated little twist that somehow set the room to spinning around them. The blue flames of the candles causing streaks of light across his vision as Harry tried to avoid the queasiness all the sudden motion around them had tried to build up. Thankfully the room stopped spinning soon enough, leaving them standing in what seemed the exact same formation as before, the unmarked doors impossible to tell apart.

Selasi strode forward with confidence, however, and led them through to a glimmering room filled with all manner of clocks and timepieces. The air was filled with the sounds of discordant ticking and the odd cuckoo. As they walked along the rows and rows of clocks Harry looked at everything with wide-eyed fascination. There was a cabinet that held a large number of differently sized hourglasses that caught his eye in particular, and he found himself pausing before it, something about them oddly familiar.

“What are these?” He asked, raising a hand at the cabinet but making no move to touch it.

“Time Turners.” Selasi answered in an almost bored tone.

“Like time _travel_?” Harry boggled, “That’s possible?”

“You will find, Mr. Snape,” the man replied, now showing a hint of a smile, “that very nearly everything is if given the proper time, initiative, and resources to discover.”

Harry glanced back at the cabinet, the niggling feeling finally slotting into place as a gleam of light bounced off of the delicate chain attached to one the smallest of the Time Turners.

“Wait. Hermione Granger had one of these, didn’t she? In third year.” Harry glared over at his father, who blinked, frowned, then looked mildly consternation as he pinched his nose in a sure sign of frustration.

“Merlin’s balls, Minerva,” The man muttered, “we will be having words about open communication amongst the staff.”

“The Granger girl was quite responsible, I must say.” Selasi continued, “You can never be certain, of course. Very few are given the opportunity, but she was remarkably self-restrained in her use of it.”

Harry thought that a fair amount of things about third year now made a good deal of sense.

At the head of the room was a giant bell jar filled with swirling sand and a tiny egg at its center. Harry paused once more to watch as the egg hatched into a hummingbird that grew and molted and died before his eyes only to then regress back into an egg and start the process all over again.

Jax leaned closer to get a better look but had to pull back almost at once due to the strong magic making him sneeze violently.

They exited the time room into a much dimmer space. Blinking the dancing, glimmering lights from his vision, Harry nearly mistook the towering shelves surrounding them as a vast library. And perhaps it was, of a sort. Although, instead of books the shelves were lined with endless glass spheres, most dusty with age. There was no telling how long they had all been sitting there undisturbed.

“Are these _all_ prophecies?” Harry asked, his voice hushed as they walked down a long aisle, passing endless identical glass globes.

“Yes, we keep a copy of every prophecy spoken here for posterity, or to be reclaimed by those whom which they speak of.”

“How do you get copies of them?”

Selasi tapped the side of his nose, “That would be telling. We are called Unspeakables for a reason. If you truly wish to know, perhaps consider that as a career path.”

Harry had not thought much about what he would do after Hogwarts, and with the Dark Lord’s return he was not sure if he would even get the chance to. But he could not deny that the idea was somewhat appealing. He was curious by nature, and the path of an Unspeakable would allow him the freedom to explore that in a professional capacity.

He did not like the idea of working for the Ministry, but Harry got the impression that the Department of Mysteries was not so much a part of the Ministry as adjacent to it. It was a concession that bore thinking about.

“Row ninety-seven,” Selasi spoke a long moment later, stopping them at an innocuous line of shelves just like any other they had passed and leading them about halfway down, “this one, here.”

Harry looked to where the man gestured, a dusty globe above a plaque that read:

_S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D.  
Dark Lord  
And (?) Harry Potter_

“You must be the one to take it from the shelf,” Selasi continued, “anyone aside from those about whom the prophecy is said would suffer a madness unlike anything remotely endurable.”

Harry resisted the urge to gulp nervously, “My name, it’s changed.”

“That matters not, it will know you for its purpose.”

With a last glance at his father, who had gone sallow-faced once more, his black eyes heavy with suppressed sorrow, Harry reached for the little glass sphere. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, gritty with dust, and a soft glow lighting the inside of it, but Harry was thankfully not plunged into any endless wells of madness.

“This way, I will show you to a room.”

Selasi did just that, turning them down another aisle and through to the edge of the room where a door with a handle opened into a nicely lit corridor lined with normal looking office doors that were all firmly closed against intrusion.

The door he opened for Harry revealed a room with an oaken desk that held all manner of bits and bobs along with two large bowls. One seemed ordinary enough, ceramic and covered in delicate peonies. The other was obviously a pensieve, carved with runes and filled with smoky liquid but no memories that Harry could see.

“I will return to collect you.” Selasi said, leaving them to their privacy.

“I’ll wait just outside.” Regulus added, giving Severus a significant look that the man did not acknowledge other than with a shallow nod.

Harry twisted the glass ball in his hands nervously, no doubt getting them grimy with years worth of dust. How old was the thing anyway?

“I will also leave you to listen,” his father murmured and Harry startled.

“Why? Shouldn’t you hear it as well?” Truthfully, Harry just did not want to be left with this burden alone. Jax was with him, always, but there was something about having his father there to support him that just added a steadiness to his nerves.

“I-- no, I must...” with uncharacteristic hesitance, Severus fumbled his words in a way that had Harry more nervous than any other part of this entire trip. “Perhaps afterward, if you still wish me to know.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to know?” Harry asked slowly, stepping forward.

“Here,” his father reached into his robe pocket and produced a vial of swirling memories, “this will explain everything. Watch them after. Then we can... talk. If you wish.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Harry took the vial, more confused than ever.

“I can not. I am...” Severus bowed his head, his long hair swinging forward to hide the stricken look that had overcome his features, “ _weak_.”

“I don’t understand.” Harry floundered, feeling awkward with his hands full and his father acting so strangely before him.

“You will.” Then, “I love you, Harry. Know that.”

“I do.” Harry answered at once, “I mean, I love you too, Dad.”

Then Harry was being pulled into a fiercely tight embrace that he could not even begin to return before his father was once more releasing him and stepping out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“ _That was weird, right?_ ” Jax hissed, flicking his forked tongue at the closed door.

“ _Yeah._ ” Harry agreed, tightening his grip on both the vial of memories and the glass sphere.

He did not want to listen to either thing. He wanted to go back to Spinner’s End. To brew in the basement laboratory with his father, or else work in the back garden. He wanted to sit on the cracked sidewalk with Liam and argue over music. He wanted to be with Blaise, eating gelato under the unforgiving Italian summer sun.

He did _not_ want the Dark Lord lurking on the horizon. He did _not_ want to be part of some prophecy. He did _not_ want to know what had shaken his father so severely that he could not even speak the words to Harry.

But, as was so often the case in his life, Harry did not get what he wanted.

So, squaring his thin shoulders, Harry stepped over to the desk and carefully set down the vial of memories before cracking the glowing glass globe into the ceramic bowl like an egg and watching as the Divination teacher, Trelawney, rose up from the shattered pieces like a ghost in miniature and began to speak.


	6. Chapter 6

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

Harry watched unblinking as the ghostly visage before him faded into the air as if it had not just laid a doom at his feet. The shattered remains of the glass orb sat in the ceramic bowl, ordinary now, seeming to mock him with their fragile, gleaming points.

“ _She can’t mean you._ ” Jax hissed quietly, glaring purple snake eyes down into the bowl as well.

“ _She must..._ ” Harry murmured, feeling cold as the words spun around and around in his head on a terrifying, endless loop. “Or at least the Dark Lord believes it to be, in which case it doesn't matter if it isn't, he’ll just keep coming.”

It was an odd sort of relief to finally know the reason he had been constantly pursued by the man.

The knowledge did not make it right, not by a long shot. But the ability to apply even a hint of logic to the situation provided Harry with an insight he had not had before. As unfair as it might still be, at the very least he now knew it was not just a random, violent, fixation.

What he would do now with that knowledge was another question. One he could not pursue at the moment with his shaking limbs and ringing ears.

Picking up the vial of memories, Harry struggled to uncork it with numb fingers. Hopefully, his father really had provided him with answers to all the questions bombarding his mind. Although again, Harry did not think he was going to like whatever it was he was about to see. Not if the way Severus had been acting was any indication.

Harry and Jax watched the swirl of glowing memories assimilate inside the curved bowl of the pensieve, the air felt suddenly thick with foreboding.

“ _Well,_ ” Harry took a shaky breath as his hands gripped the carved edges of the stone basin, as much to stop their shaking as for leverage to lower his face down towards the smoky haze of memories, “ _here we go._ ”

The sensation of being tipped end over end as his nose and Jax’s snout touched the surface made Harry’s already uneasy stomach roil even further; although he managed to keep his feet as they landed in what seemed to be a dimly lit hallway in some sort of inn. Not a very high end one at that, given the scuffed floors and crooked numbers on the doors that lined said hallway.

What was most interesting, however, was the man crouching outside one of those doors. He was hunched down, with dark robes that could have used a deft hand at tailoring but were by no means the worst that Harry had ever come across. His hair was long and ink black, hanging in lank sheets that did little to disguise his sallow skin and the highly prominent nose that sat above a sneering, thin mouth.

It was undeniably Severus Snape. Younger, far younger than Harry had ever quite imagined seeing him. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than Harry was now, in fact.

“ _No fucking way._ ” Jax hissed, straining forward on his shoulders even as Harry took uncertain steps forward.

The younger Severus had a hungry look about his face, one that had little to do with food (though he also seemed like he needed a few good meals in him). There was dark bruising under his eyes that told a tale of little sleep and too many late nights.

Harry crouched down next to his father, who his father had been once upon a time, and listened to the conversation being had behind the closed door that had him so enraptured.

“--will be sure to let you know once I’ve made my decision about the post, Miss Trelawney.” Harry felt his eyes widen as the unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore drifted through the wood.

“Of course, of course, and thank you again for accommodating me with the location. It has been quite difficult to--” but whatever the woman who had been speaking was about to say was suddenly cut off by a harsh, choking gargle before she continued on in a much deeper and chillingly familiar way, “ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._ ”

“Oi! You there, boy! Stop skulking about!” Both Harry and Severus startled at the appearance of an older wizard with features that were vaguely reminiscent of Dumbledore’s, though that may have just been the beard.

“I wasn’t _skulking_ , Aberforth,” Severus sneered, regaining his feet with a shadow of the grace that Harry was used to seeing, a flush high on his pale cheeks, “and you would be advised to remember that I am a boy no longer. That I have powerful friends that would not take kindly to you speaking to me in such a fashion.”

Aberforth guffawed loudly, the sound empty of any humor as he seized Severus by the back of his robes and bodily tossed him towards the rickety looking stairs.

“I’ll speak however I damn well please in me own pub, _boy_. And I don’t give half a rat’s arsehole what you or your friends have to say about it. Now out! Out wit’ you before I get truly angry.”

“You’ll regret this, old man. You _all_ will.” Severus promised as he slammed the pub’s door behind him and the scene dissolved around Harry and Jax.

When it reformed, they were stood on a long elaborately woven rug that depicted a vast amount of snakes intertwined with one another. It led to a high backed chair so intimidating in its position and construction to almost be a throne. Sitting upon it was Voldemort, but not the one Harry had met in the graveyard, nor the twisted mass that had been attached to the back of Quirrell's head. No, this was more akin to an older Tom Riddle in appearance, perhaps only because he still possessed a nose. His eyes were reddened but not truly scarlet yet, though he was bald and his skin waxy and pale. There was a coldness in his gaze as he peered down at the man kneeling at his feet that foretold little in the way of mercy or goodwill.

“And what tidbit have you brought your Lord, young Severus, you do always provide _interesting_ news.” Voldemort's high, chilling voice sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. It was definitely that of the thing that had emerged from the cauldron.

“Yes, my Lord.” Severus demurred. Harry’s father was kneeling so low on the serpent emblazoned carpet that his black hair pooled on the floor around his face. “Thank you.”

The subservience that Severus was showing the Dark Lord was making Harry faintly ill to witness. His father should not be bowing and scraping before anybody, least of all the madman before them. The Severus Snape that Harry knew would never act this way, would never prostrate himself before another in such a manner.

So disconcerted was Harry by the scene before him that he nearly missed it when his father began to speak again.

“My Lord, I come bearing an urgent warning.”

“Speak,” Voldemort ordered, tapping long, nearly skeletal fingers on the arm of his chair.

“There has been a prophecy, I heard it with my own ears. It foretells of someone with power enough to defeat you.”

“Impossible,” Voldemort stated at once, “you must have misheard.”

“I do not wish to contradict my Lord,” Severus continued carefully, “but there was no mistaking it.”

Jax let out an angry hiss as Harry stood rooted to the floor. He should have realised what was happening the moment they appeared in the scene.

It felt as if ice had been forced all through his veins as he watched his father doom him before his eyes.

No. No, it couldn’t be true.

But it was. It was. And now so many things were made blindingly, painfully, inextricably clear.

Whatever else was said between Voldemort and Severus fell on deaf ears as Harry struggled to catch a full breath. After long moments filled with more panicked breathing, Harry was finally able to raise up shaky Occlumency shields (shields that his father had taught him to deal with nightmares that he would not have had if the man had not done the very thing that led to their cause).

The scene dissolved once again even as Jax hissed out more expletives.

This time when the world reformed around them, Harry found the nearest seat and sank into it before his legs gave out on him.

“--Longbottoms are also due, my Lord. Why should we leave anything to chance? Let us kill both and be done with it.” A woman was saying and Harry blinked the tears from his eyes, tears he hadn’t even realised he’d been shedding. The woman had a head of wild black hair and a vicious, eager look about her eyes.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

The room held a long table around which sat a number of black-cloaked and masked figures, with Voldemort at the head. Very few bore bare faces like Lestrange, but Harry could see the distinct platinum blond of Lucius Malfoy’s hair under his hood. Severus was not seated at the table, Harry noticed, but rather leaning against a shadowed corner like some malevolent bat. His shoulders were tense and he had his arms crossed over his thin chest, grabbing at his own elbows with white, bloodless hands. He had also forgone a mask, but his dour features were so rigidly stony that Harry doubted any mask could provide further inscrutability.

“Though I admire your pragmatism, bloodthirsty as it is, Bellatrix, I have made my decision.” Voldemort said, a hint of cold amusement in the tone. “No, it shall be the Potters. They will be made an example of. I shall see to it personally, of course.”

“My Lord,” the protest came from opposing angles as both Lestrange and Severus spoke up.

The woman glared across the room, face drawn up in a snarl.

“My Lord,” Severus began again, pushing away from his corner and approaching the table, his features still stiff and posture unyielding, “you need only the child.”

“And why should the lives of blood traitors and Mudbloods matter to you, Severus?” The Dark Lord did not sound so much curious as simply toying.

“He _loves_ the Mudblood bitch.” Lestrange cut in with a cruel shriek of a laugh, “Isn’t that right Sevvie? You want to fu--” her words were suddenly muted as Severus pulled and flicked his wand faster than any maneuver Harry had ever seen. His black eyes were burning pools of ire even as he calmly slipped the wand back up his sleeve and turned to face the Dark Lord again. Lestrange clawed at her throat, shoulders heaving in rage.

“Is this true, Severus? Do you _care_ for this... thing?”

“My Lord, take the child, kill James Potter, I care not. But please, spare Lily Evans. Have I not been loyal to you? Have I not given my own life over into your service? Was I not the one to bring this threat to your attention? I only ask this one thing in return.” The words were said firmly, almost dispassionately. Severus must have been Occluding very heavily at that moment to not let his emotions seep through.

The Dark Lord laughed, high pitched and cold.

“Do not presume to tell me who I can and can not kill, Severus Snape.”

“I do not, My Lord. I merely humbly _request_ \--”

Voldemort laughed again, waving a dismissive hand, “It is true that you have been a good servant to your Lord, if the Mudblood does not resist, you may have her. Although I would perhaps think about acquiring a more refined taste for your _needs_.”

There was a spattering of snickers from around the table but Severus simply bowed and the room faded away once again. Harry, unprepared for the shift, fell to the ground with a thump. Luckily it was springy grass covering soft loam. Above him stood Dumbledore, looming and terrible against the night sky, his face nowhere near the kindly old man he usually projected.

“Don’t kill me!” Harry’s father was shouting, tossing away his wand and falling to his knees before the man.

All of the stony-facade was gone, leaving raw and unbridled emotion to twist and pull at features that suddenly seemed far, far, too young to be embroiled in such a situation. 

“That was not my intention.” Dumbledore glared down his crooked nose at Severus, who looked far worse than Harry could ever remember seeing. The dark bruises under his eyes expanded, his skin sallow where it wasn’t bone white. His dark hair tangled as if he’d been running his hands through it endlessly.

“Tell me, Severus, what message does the Dark Lord have for me?”

“No, no message... I haven’t come on his behalf... I haven’t... he means to _kill_ her! He means to kill Lily Evans!”

Harry watched, stricken dumb as Severus turned coat, the desperation tearing at Harry’s shields as he witnessed the Headmaster twist promises out of him.

“You disgust me.”

Harry struggled to his feet, there was a fire building within him. Bubbling under his barrier of Mind Magic, threatening to burst forth with every second they spent on that hilltop.

It was almost a relief when the memory faded around them until it refocused into the ruined entryway of a modest home. There was plaster and chunks of wood strewn all around and Harry let out an involuntary shout as he spotted a body amongst the chaos. It had a familiar head of messy hair and there was a pair of round-framed glasses cracked and broken next to the man’s outstretched hand.

Harry stumbled away from the corpse of his biological father, nearly tripping on the steps that led to the next floor. Tearing his eyes away, he scrambled up.

“ _What the shit, what the shit?_ ” Jax was hissing in his ear and Harry had no answer.

At the landing, he could hear an anguished, wretched sound and Harry had never wanted to keep away from a room so much in his entire life. But Severus had given this memory to him and he would see it through.

There was no door to the room, it had been blasted from its hinges along with much of the surrounding frame and wall.

On the floor was Severus, cradling another body. This one red-haired and lithe, Harry’s mother.

“Nooo... no, no, no, Lily, no... Lily, he _promised_... Lily... I’m _sorry_... Lily...”

Harry couldn’t watch. He couldn’t look at his father so beaten and broken and too young. Too, _too_ young for the utter despair that poured from him.

Looking away, Harry saw himself. An infant in a crib, his forehead cut with a vicious and still bloody scar. He was not crying, oddly. He was just staring around the destroyed room, unblinking.

Harry was reminded of the screams he heard when Dementors drew near. They must be from this moment, his mother defying the Dark Lord that had invaded her home and threatened her child. He could have gotten on well enough without the visual component, Harry thought, closing his eyes against the sight of everything until the horrible wailing stopped as the memories shifted again.

He did not know how much more of it he would be able to take, Occlumency or no.

Unfortunately, the next scene seemed to take place directly after the last. There was still plaster dust and splinters on Severus’ robes as he broke down once more before Albus Dumbledore.

Harry seethed as he watched the Headmaster manipulate and twist the many knives that seemed to have taken up residence in Harry’s father. Cruel and unforgiving in his Machiavellian need to keep everything under toe. Pulling loyalty and promises out of a grieving, guilt-ridden man. Setting pieces in place and plans into motion without a second thought.

If Harry had ever not trusted the Headmaster before, the scene unfolding in front of him right then would have more than served that purpose. It mattered very little to Harry that Albus Dumbledore purported to serve the Light when looking at the man’s actions showed his true, cold-hearted ruthlessness.

There were things in this world that needed to be done, yes. Steps that needed taking if there was to be peace and freedom. Harry knew that, better than most. But that did not mean the man behind such actions was a good person for them.

He watched as Severus promised to look after him. As his father demanded that Dumbledore never speak of it to Harry. As if Severus were unworthy of being seen as anything other than something to be hated.

Harry could not help but wonder what might have happened had he not been sorted into Slytherin. Would he still be at the Dursleys? Would Severus have even had the opportunity to weed out all of Harry’s dark secrets? Would he look at Harry and just see James Potter? Then again, would any of it have happened if Severus had not been spying on Dumbledore to begin with?

As Harry struggled to shake the terrifying thoughts away the world tipped and he found them back in the little room inside the Department of Mysteries.

“ _That was fucked,_ ” Jax hissed weakly, hiding his head under Harry’s chin, “ _this is fucked._ ”

All Harry could do was nod and stroke the serpent’s neck.

It really, really was.

Mechanically, Harry coaxed the memories back into their vial and stoppered it. The tiny thing looked so innocent in his hand, giving no indication that it held world shattering information.

“ _He sold you out,_ ” Jax said into the quiet of the room as Harry continued to stare down at the vial.

“ _He didn’t know it was me._ ”

“ _He knew it was_ somebody _._ ”

“ _Yeah... yeah._ ” Harry shuddered, there were tears running down his face again and he couldn’t stop them.

What Severus had done should have been unforgivable... but Harry, at that moment, could think of nothing he wanted to do more than wrench open the door and bury himself in his father’s arms.

He had always known that Severus had a dark past. That he had made terrible, horrendous, mistakes. But he had spent every moment since attempting to make up for them. He had given Harry a home when he did not have to. He had guarded his dreams and shown him what true family was supposed to be like. He had _loved_ him. _Did_ love him still. Truly and deeply.

He had not lied to Harry.

Withheld the truth until this moment, yes. But when it became apparent that Harry would need the information, for his own safety, he had given more than enough to satisfy. Far more of himself than Harry would have ever asked for. He could still hear the man’s anguished wails as he held Lily Potter’s body against his own.

Dumbledore certainly had never made mention of any prophecy to Harry, had hardly looked at him the few times they had passed one another at Grimmauld Place. Harry had thought it a blessing, but now the snubbing rankled.

A soft knock on the door startled Harry from his thoughts and he let out a faint, “Come in.”

Harry half expected it to be Regulus, or even Selasi, but it was his father who opened the door. Severus had not regained any color in the time Harry and Jax had spent in the pensieve. In fact, he seemed to have gone even whiter. But he met Harry’s eyes across the space between them and that was as much as Harry could stand before he launched himself at the man.

Severus was stiff, as if he’d expected Harry to begin punching him and was more than willing to stand there and endure it. But Harry did not want to hurt him, he wanted Severus to embrace him back and tell him everything was going to be okay. That he had a plan. That things would be going back to normal now that all the cards were on the table.

But Severus had never lied to Harry and to start now would be pointless.

“Harry, I’m sorry, I--” the words came out as more of a rasp than anything and Harry shook his head rapidly at them even as more tears fell, only to be absorbed into the fabric of the man’s robes.

“I assure you, Harry, son--” he must have taken it for disagreement and so Harry squeezed him harder as Severus choked on his own words once more.

“ _Dad_ ,” Harry gasped around his own swollen throat, “ _please..._ ”

His father finally seemed to come to his senses enough to hug Harry back, both of them shaking and far too watery. Jax let out a disgruntled hiss, still highly upset about the Potions Master’s somewhat unwitting betrayal. Harry knew it would be some time before he could convince the serpent to let go of the grudge. For now, as he was not setting Severus’ robes aflame, he could deal with some forced proximity whilst Harry dealt with the myriad of swirling, confusing, unpleasant emotions that he had not been prepared to face that day.

His father had done a terrible thing.

Harry had done some terrible things himself.

Perhaps they were simply well matched that way.

Harry did not know what the future held (except for the part where he did), but he knew his father would be there with him. And that made the creeping horror of it just bearable.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry clung to his father’s robes and tried to regain control over his Occlumency so as to stop acting like a child and examine the situation logically.

He was not very successful.

Severus held him close, tightly, as if afraid that Harry might flee from his sight any moment. But Harry did not want to flee... not from the Potions Master, at least. Not even after everything he had just learned.

The man had given him shelter and home and _love_. Things, Harry’s cynical side told him, that he would have had already if Severus had not been spying on that meeting in the first place.

Then again, if Trelawney had not made the prophecy, none of this would ever have happened either. Harry’s birth parents might have still died in the war. Or they may not have. But the reality of the situation was that Harry had grown up in a less than ideal environment and he was not about to throw away what happiness he and Jax had managed to find just because it had some (very) rough edges.

When Harry finally managed to pull himself together enough to breathe evenly and stop making a mess of his father's robes he said, “I understand why you did it.”

And he did, truly.

Severus had come from a terrible childhood too and was trying to make a better life for himself. He'd just made a few terrible choices that had long-reaching consequences the man obviously had not anticipated but was doing his utmost to rectify. He had only been a few years older than Harry was now when he'd been drawn in by promises of power and respect, recognition he might not have otherwise due to his class and blood-status.

It was perhaps not a choice Harry would have made, handing over the fate of an unknown person into the hands of a Dark Lord. But then again, if Severus had never taken him in, who knows what lengths Harry would have gone to keep himself and Jax safe. To improve their own ragged lot.

“Harry,” Severus breathed against the crown of his head, sounding just as fractured as Harry felt, “I was wrong. I was so utterly, _hideously_ wrong. It-- your mother-- _Lily_ , she--”

“ _Dad_ ,” Harry cut him off before Severus could try and dig himself an even deeper and darker hole full of roiling self-loathing and regret, “Dad, I don't hate you.”

Severus made a low, wounded sort of sound almost too quiet for Harry to hear. Jax hissed a disgruntled dissent, curling tighter on his perch.

“How can you not?” The words were said in a biting, acerbic, staccato and Harry felt his heart clench as something else within him galvanised into fierce resolve.

His father, as strong and capable as he had proven himself to be over the years, was in need of someone now. Harry had nearly lost count of the times the man had pulled him up from his own deep wells and dark corners. It was now Harry's time to return the favor.

And, he suspected, he might be the only one who would be able to do so. With this. With what Severus had done in his disastrously ill-spent youth and how it had cascaded outwards to entangle them both irrevocably no matter what the original intention had been.

“You told me once that you welcomed me into your home and cared for me, not because of my mother, but because of _me_. That I should not insult you by questioning your intentions, or motives.” Harry pulled back far enough so that he could meet the man's black eyes, reddened and shadowed as they were, he needed his father to know he spoke truth, “I'm asking for the same courtesy now. Yes, you did something reprehensible. Something you should not have done. But you have also never been anything less than accepting of me, I know you would never intentionally hurt me.”

Severus’ brows drew together in an incredulous, mournful mien as he stared down at Harry. He did not need to look so very far as Harry was once again struck by how much he had grown from the tiny waif he had been in first year; when everything had towered above him. Most beings still had a height advantage, of course, but Harry now reached just above his father's shoulder. Instead of overwhelming him as it had before, the reminder seemed to pour steel into his spine and Harry squared his own shoulders and stopped clutching at his father's robes, shifting his grip to the man's shoulders as if he could somehow transfer some of that resolve through their contact.

“I'm not saying that what you did was right, or completely out of your control. I'm saying that you've been punished enough, that you have more than made up for that wrong.” Harry pulled his father into another embrace, this one unshaking and dry. “I love you.”

Rarely had Harry ever spoken so plainly about something so personal and emotional, usually, he tried to avoid such things at all costs. But there was no getting around it here, not now, not with this. Not after everything he had just learned.

~~~~~~~>

Severus had felt adrift as he waited for Harry outside of the room where all his secrets were being laid bare, lost in a sucking darkness of his own making. Unable to meet the concerned eye of Regulus as a frigid cold seemed to seep along his limbs to infect every jagged corner of his insides.  
He was about to lose his son. And there was no argument to be made that could possibly change that outcome.

Only, when he could delay no longer and re-entered the office Harry rushed him, not to attack or escape but to seek _comfort_. From the man who was responsible for ruining his entire life.

And _then_ , stubborn boy that he was, Harry refused to even allow Severus the option to forsake him as he rightfully should. To leave Severus to dissolve back into the bleak and bitter mire his life had been since Halloween of 1981, when the last faint speck of pure light left in it was snuffed. Only to be rekindled in a child, small and skittish and clever, that Severus saw far too much of himself in.

It seemed an inevitability that Harry would wish to leave him the moment he knew the full and damning truth.

And Severus... he would not survive the loss of his child. Of that he was certain. There was only so much hardship a single person in this world could be made to endure and Severus was very nearly past capacity. But for Harry, because it would be the best and safest course for the boy, he would make that sacrifice. As he had made sacrifices all his life. Severus Snape was never meant to be happy, it was a lesson driven into him hard as a child and reinforced again and again as the years passed.

But Harry. His _son_. The person held most firmly to the shriveled, gnarled, blackness that made up his heart (a heart that had not felt nearly so forlorn and malnourished in recent years), was bracing him by the shoulders and refusing to be pushed away.

It hurt, Merlin did it hurt.

Severus was nothing but poison. Acidic and volatile and acrimonious. Harry should be trying to flee from him, not... not _forgive_.

“I love you.”

Something within him cracked, splintering in the gripping darkness and letting light shine through. Harry, his jaw set at a stubborn angle and steel in those green eyes that were so reminiscent of Lily, pulled him into an embrace that said in no uncertain terms that he would hear none of Severus protests. That, in spite of all good sense, Harry would not allow Severus to dictate what his reaction should be.

Perhaps... perhaps this was what unconditional love was.

The concept, aimed at himself, was completely alien. His mother had been full of spite and resentment for much of his life, though better to him than his bastard of a father. Lily had refused to forgive him. If she ever would have in time, Severus would never know. His son, who should have more reason than any in the world to despise him, was instead doing the exact opposite. And Severus could do little more than match the embrace and rasp out the same in return.

He had resigned himself to his fate, seeing no other outcome possible.

He should have known to expect the unexpected when it came to the boy that had taken his name. A boy that was nearly a man now, with a far too heavy burden placed far too early upon his thin shoulders. Severus would assist with that burden, in whatever capacity was needed.

Nothing would take his son from him. Not the Dark Lord. Not some half-heard prophecy. Not any foul scrap of parasitic soul. Not Severus’ own crippling need to self-sabotage at every significant opportunity.

Harry needed him, so Severus would stop wallowing in useless guilt and instead put that energy into something productive.

“Thank you.” He murmured as they fell away from one another at last, Severus felt scrapped out and raw on the inside. He did not know if that was better or worse than the biting numbness of before. “I fear I may have displayed a worrying amount of erroneous despondency in recent days.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Harry nodded seriously, as if they had not just shared a deeply emotional moment, “we all get lost in our heads sometimes.”

The boy’s serpent let out an angry sounding hiss, glaring at Severus. It was in all actuality somewhat of a relief to know that someone other than himself was also not ready to absolve Severus completely of his sins.

“What do we do now?” Harry asked, after giving the snake an admonishing flick on the tail.

“That depends on a great many factors. Did you learn anything more from the prophecy in full?” Severus was quite proud of himself for managing to ask that with a steady voice.

“Nothing good.”

When Harry repeated the prophecy then, Severus found within himself a renewed resolve.

The Dark Lord would die. By Severus’ hand if need be. He would never learn the full breadth of the Divination spoken that night at the Hog’s Head Inn. The future was ever fluid and Severus would make certain that the madman he once foolishly followed would have no further reason to come after his son.

Voldemort would not stop, Severus knew, but he did not need any further fuel put into that particular fire.

He would be having words with the Headmaster about what the man knew, had known for years.

There would be a reckoning.

For now, it was time to leave the Ministry. There was much work still to be done and it was not safe to linger away from the safety of their seclusion.

Although when Unspeakable Selasi led them free of the Department of Mysteries and Harry asked if they could spend a few moments in a nearby park, Severus could not find it in himself to deny his son the small respite.

He would give Harry the world if it were within his power.

That, perhaps, was a personal weakness. As Severus really should have trusted his instincts to remove them quickly from the area.

Regulus had wandered up the path a bit, to give him and Harry a few moments of privacy as they watched ducks splash around in an algae-laden pond in an attempt to escape the scorching summer heatwave that had been overtaking much of the country. They stood in silence, one that was not exactly comfortable (given the continued glares being sent his way by Harry’s familiar) but still far better than any scenario Severus might have imagined that morning when he had received the note informing him that Regulus had secured them an in with his contacts.

“I almost wish we had some crumbs to throw to them,” Harry commented, nodded at the ducks.

“Bread is actually terrible for birds,” Severus murmured, “you would do better with seeds. Although, I would not recommend feeding them at all. Ducks are vicious things.”

“Aren’t we all?” It was a rhetorical question but still, Severus could not help agreeing even if he did not vocalise such.

Harry was indeed his son, through and through.

They felt it at the same time, making identical moves to grab for wands as an unnatural chill descended on the park. A murky haze blotted out the previously unrelenting brightness of the afternoon sun. Regulus came jogging up the path, wand in hand, he had not transfigured his face to right yet and the salt and pepper shading to his shortened hair and beard added additional gravitas to the hardened look he sent Severus.

“Dementors. We need to leave. _Now_.”

Severus had already surmised as much, as had Harry, judging by the fact that they had both reacted in near synchronicity to the change in atmosphere.

As he made to take Harry by the elbow and make good their escape, a dark and menacing growl sounded right next to his ear and Severus flinched and shifted to stand between the threat and his son. Only to realise a moment later that it had been a foolish and amateur mistake. There was no werewolf nipping at his heels, no, the Dementors had reached them.

The very recent emotional turmoil had left him vulnerable to the Dark magic suffusing the raggedly robed creatures. Making him hesitate as howls rang in his ears, playing counterpoint to bouts of cruel, youthful, laughter that transformed eerily into the high-pitched mad cackling that had spewed forth from the possessed body of his son.

There were four of them, closing in and still Severus stood frozen, bombarded by his very worse mistakes and failings and fears.

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ” Light shone into the darkness from two angles as a sleek raven and a bobbing bat flew out to meet the Dementors head on with varying degrees of grace but equal blinding force to scatter the menacing figures.

The brief respite finally managed to knock Severus out of his indecision and he barked out the incantation as well. It took two attempts before the fawn appeared. An unacceptable failing that paired with his hesitancy could have cost Harry his life. Severus needed to focus, he could not let his own weaknesses do any more harm to his son.

“They’re coming back around, be ready,” Regulus commanded, the man’s raven circling above them. The bird was reminiscent of the Black family crest and looked just as elegantly vicious as anything to emerge from that Noble and Most Ancient House.

Harry’s bat shone just as bright as the first time it had appeared, making that cracked thing inside of Severus let in that much more light. His son still loved him and the proof of it was flapping tiny wings into the hooded face of one the Darkest things in existence and driving it away with ease. Severus’ fawn seemed to grow brighter in response and charged at two that had circled back.

“Where did they come from?” Harry shouted, he was pressed firmly to Severus’ back, “Was it the Dark Lord? Did he send them?”

Before either of them could answer, there was a series of _cracks_ as a group of red robed Aurors appeared around them. Jax, evidently startled by this and obviously itching to attack something he could reach, spit a flaming glob at the nearest figure. Setting the women's robes ablaze along with some adjacent shrubbery and one unfortunately singed waterfowl. By the time the fire was under control the Dementors had long since disappeared and they were left facing a large number of very disgruntled Aurors.

“What in _blazes_ is going on here?!” An imperious man with a very large mustache and a larger gut blustered. “Bardwell! Go get that looked at woman before your leg falls off! And take the duck with you, no telling what mess the muggles around here would make of it.”

The woman who had taken the brunt of the serpent’s attack let out a quaverly sort of affirmative and limped over to gather up the highly agitated duck and apparated away with another _crack_.

“And you! What do you think you’re doing, making a mockery of our laws? Using magic willy-nilly where any muggle could just walk by and see?” The man jabbed a finger at Harry, who blinked once in surprise before shuttering his expression in a properly Slytherin manner.

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Severus murmured in his quietest, more deadly voice. Nobody was allowed to speak to his son in that manner.

“Extenuating... _extenuating_ circumstances?!” The man spluttered, his very large mustache quivering in equal aghast.

“I believe that is what I just said,” Severus sneered, “are all Aurors as deficient at taking statements or are you a special case?”

“Now see here! I’ll have you up on charges--”

“You will cease your useless barking and inform us exactly what you plan to do about the four Dementors that just attacked us in broad daylight, in a muggle park, in the middle of _London_.” Severus cut the man off, “Or I will bring this forward to the Head Auror myself. I am sure he will be more than pleased to know your first instinct upon arriving at the scene of an assault is to accuse a fifteen year old boy using underage magic when there is clear precedence for use of such in life-threatening situations.”

“Dementors, Professor? Here?” Another Auror asked as the first man sputtered some more into his mustache, he was fresh-faced and vaguely familiar, one of Minerva’s perhaps; not long out of Hogwarts but far enough removed that Severus could not quite recall his name.

“Have I ever struck you as a man prone to dissembling?”

“N-No, Professor Snape, sir. Of course, I was just expressing my surprise. We’ll look into this right away.”

“Shut it, _Junior_ Auror Ashworth!”

“S-sorry, Auror Cosgrove.” The young Auror flushed as the mustachioed Cosgrove turned his irritation on him.

“Does that mean you do not intend to investigate this incident?” Regulus asked, the cold edge of aristocracy sharpening each word. “I believe I shall have a word with Rufus myself about the _inadequacy_ of his Department, it has been far too long since I’ve shared a meal with him. I’ll be sure to mention you personally, _Cosgrove_ was it?”

The large man had finally stopped sputtering and gone a bit splotchy instead, when he opened his mouth to speak, Severus again cut him off.

“If you’ll excuse us, I need to take my son home now. I do not trust to our continued safety here. I will send you any statements you require by owl. I expect to hear back about why Dementors seem to have broken their bonds to Azkaban and how you plan to rectify the situation.”

With that, Severus took hold of Harry’s elbow at last and apparated them both back to the Prince cabin. Regulus followed half a second behind them, his altered features drawn down in a deeper frown than was usually there.

Severus remembered a time when Regulus seemed to always have a smile. It had been a bit grating then, as if the younger man were somehow mocking Severus for his dour demeanor. This more serious version of the man that had reappeared just worked to emphasise how much the years between had hardened them all.

“Are you really going to talk to the Head Auror?” Harry asked as they all headed inside the cabin.

Regulus grimaced as he went about putting his face to rights, “I’d really rather not, I find the man insufferable. There is no denying he is good at his job, but Rufus Scrimgeour is someone that thinks they’re cleverer than they really are and are more than willing to show it. Useful to have as a contact, not a very good dinner guest. Plus,” Regulus winked before shifting his eyes back to their usual grey, “he knows me as a blond and I do so hate how it washes out my complexion.”

That startled a snort out of Harry and some of the tension that had built up between Severus’ shoulders eased. They were safe for the moment. He had his son, who did not hate him, and they were surrounded by powerful wards. No Dementors would find them here, nor any Dark Lords.

Tomorrow would be another day, filled with research and questions and more uncertainty, but for the moment at least, he could relax.


	8. Chapter 8

“They’re just going to sweep the entire incident under the rug?” Harry should not have been as surprised as he was, given what little the Ministry had done in the weeks since Voldemort’s return.

Well, perhaps that was being a bit unfair. The Ministry has so far done a marvelous job at completely ignoring all warnings and advice given to them and forcefully continuing down their path of utter and complete denial of the new reality. Harry was in a state of near constant dread over what was going to finally be a big enough catastrophe to make the Minister pull his head out of his arse and start doing something productive. It would be deadly, Harry was sure. And most likely avoidable if they were not surrounded by such willful incompetence.

“So it would seem.” Severus murmured, blowing softly over the cup of tea Kreacher had just handed him.

They were at number twelve once more, in the cleared away front parlor. The heavy, dark curtains had been pulled back from the large bay window and summer light shown in from the street. It gave the room a softened tone, the air not quite so oppressive as it was deeper into the townhouse. Regulus was delicately holding his own cup of prefered coffee, frowning in his usual severe way as he rubbed one hand over his bearded chin. Remus was sat next to Harry’s father on a loveseat upholstered so dark a green to almost be black, it, of course, being a match to all the other furniture in the room.

“Have you found anything else out about the attack, Regulus?” Remus asked as Harry was handed his own cup by Kreacher, with minimal mutterings. Harry got the impression that the house elf seemed undecided on his approval of him, given Harry’s questionable upbringing. But he felt Kreacher also approved of the way Harry comported himself and his Parseltongue, so at the very least the elf did not openly despise him and tended to even offer the plate of biscuits; a grace that was never bestowed upon Sirius no matter his technical standing as Head of the House of Black.

“Nothing. And no further incidents reported either. Whoever orchestrated the move covered their tracks well. Azkaban itself is going so far as to deny that _any_ have Dementors abandoned their posts or gone rogue.”

“That just means that they could have been sent out on orders.” Harry broke in, hating that the possibility did not sound nearly as ludicrous as it should.

“Hmm, yes.” Regulus nodded slowly, “I had considered that. It is also equally possible that they were simply lying to cover their own inadequacies. It is a difficult thing to keep so many Dark beings under one’s thumb and expect everything to always run smoothly. Especially if said beings are given more enticing choices.”

The idea of Dementors simply deciding to abandon their posts and roam the country in search of new and defenseless prey chilled Harry to the bone. He took a sip of tea to try and chase the feeling away as his father spoke up again.

“Miss Reid has also informed me that no charges are to be brought up against you for use of underage magic due to the dire nature of the situation in which it was used. Nor will Junior Auror Bardwell be pursuing any action against your familiar,” Severus nodded at Jax, who was basking in the light provided by the uncovered windows, “despite urging from her commanding officer. Evidently, the woman has enough sense to recognise a volatile situation and the inherent danger therein. An admirable quality that has thankfully not been stamped out by that blithering idiot, Cosgrove.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Harry asked, guilt itching over his skin. Jax had only been protecting him.

“Fortunately,” Remus answered in a kind tone, he’d been the one to check up on the injured Auror, “most of the venom managed to soak into her robes, though there is a small amount of scarring that the healers were not able to completely avoid.”

Harry must have made a face because Remus reached across the dark expanse of the black walnut coffee table and laid a comforting hand on Harry’s knee.

“She doesn’t blame you or Jax at all. Junior Auror Bardwell is actually using the opportunity to request a transfer to a more competent supervisor. This apparently isn’t the first time Cosgrove has caused her and Junior Auror Ashworth unnecessary trouble.”

Harry nodded, his guilt somewhat assuaged, but he might still send her some apology flowers.

A small commotion in the hall outside the parlor, thankfully not loud enough to wake the portrait of Walburga, drew their attention. Through the doorway came Draco in his usual precise and proper manner, perhaps even more so in an effort to make up for his cousin Tonks that followed him in, tripping on some stray beams of light but managing to keep her feet and grinning widely at them all.

“Wotcher, everyone. Just droppin’ off this wee little stick in the mud. Moody’s got some bee in his bonnet, wants me to look into it.”

Draco huffed but took a seat on the chaise next to Harry and gracefully accepted the cup of tea that Kreacher handed him a moment later after appearing with a loud _crack_. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Draco was a favored guest of the house elf. Tonks was not offered any refreshments, although she did not seem to expect any.

“Oh, and happy birthday, Harry,” She threw over her shoulder on her way back out, “if I don’t see you again before then, that is.”

Harry blinked, he’d nearly forgotten in all the chaos of the last week that it was very nearly his birthday.

Given the damning prophecy that so highlighted that fact, Harry really should have been more aware. It was not a thing he was particularly looking forward to that year, in any case. It did not feel as if there was much to celebrate.

After Tonks departed (once more surprisingly avoiding waking the sleeping portrait) the conversation shifted directions into expectations for the coming months and how long they expected the Dark Lord to stay his hand. Dumbledore insisted on keeping up the facade of guarding a non-existent weapon. Claiming the tactic was delaying Voldemort long enough for them to gather together their own scattered resources. It was not an altogether terrible tactic, but one open to failure sooner rather than later, Harry thought. And it was sure to draw a wrathful retaliation when the ploy was found out.

Draco knew nothing of the prophecy, of course, nor Remus. Harry did not know how much his father had confided in Regulus, but he doubted it was more than strictly necessary. He looked at Remus then, how tired the man seemed. But they were _all_ tired. The moon was fast approaching and it showed in the amber glint creeping into Remus’ gaze. His father had definitely not confessed his transgressions to his partner and Harry could not blame him. Remus had been a friend of James Potter well before he was anything to Severus. It had been a near impossibility for Severus to show _Harry_ the truth.

He thought about Blaise and what might happen if he kept so dark a secret from the other boy. It hurt his heart to even imagine the look of betrayal, of pain and anger in eyes that usually shone with such playful amusement.

No, he did not blame his father one bit. Even as he knew it would be better to tell Remus the full truth rather than the man finding out through other means.

Harry would not put it past Dumbledore to wield that dreadful knowledge if he thought it might be advantageous to the war effort.

“-- you think, Harry?”

“Huh?” Harry found himself blinking again, this time at Draco’s fondly exasperated face. 

“You haven't heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

“Err, sorry, no.”

“Honestly,” Draco huffed, still looking more fond than not, “your _birthday_. Here. I was thinking a nice array of little treacle tarts, they are still your favorite, correct? And you’ll need to approve the menu choices of course--”

“What are you talking about? I don’t want a party.” Harry very nearly dropped his half-empty cup in a panic at the very thought.

“Not a _party_ ,” Draco sniffed, taking a measured sip of his own tea, the cup not even making the faintest of clicks against its saucer, “a dinner. A tasteful one. The likes of which Grimmauld Place has not had the occasion to host in far too long.”

“I don’t need...” Harry protested weakly, look to his father for help. But Severus merely quirked an eyebrow at him and Remus seemed to be hiding a grin behind his own cup. Regulus looked oddly enthused by the idea, nodding at Draco.

“Kreacher is very excited, he’s already begun clearing out the bundimun infestation in the dining hall. The place should be sparkling by the weekend.”

Harry slumped back in his seat, there was no use in protesting. And judging by the smug uptick to Draco’s smirk, he knew it. Fine, a dinner. He could muddle through a single night if it brought a bit of light into the darkness continually creeping in with each passing day. Maybe. Perhaps.

Later that day, Draco helped him procure some sorry-my-snake-set-you-on-fire-and-scarred-you-for-life apology flowers and send them off to Junior Auror Bardwell, along with some Ice Mice at Jax’s insistence. Harry wasn’t allowed to leave number twelve, and technically neither was Draco, but they (mostly Draco) convinced Kreacher to pop out and get the flowers. It was a lovely bouquet.

~~~~~~~>

The days leading up to the birthday dinner were mostly spent in a haze of research through the Black family library. Looking for any leads into possible solutions for the horcrux problem or circumventing prophecies. The latter of which Harry was delving into with fervor in the hopes that it would lend more results than the other had thus far. The library held a great number of books on divination and prophecy and the grim consequences of testing Fate. Harry did not care for the idea that there was no way around this problem.

It was an idiotic self-fulfilling spout of words. He should just be able to ignore it. Or refuse entirely to do what it proposed.

Or perhaps he could even interpret it to mean that it had already come to pass. He had _vanquished_ the Dark Lord when he was a baby. If Voldemort hadn’t already split his soul into shreds he would have died then and there.

And _power_? That was an entirely subjective concept. Physical power? Power over his own mind or that of others? The power to gather allies around himself? Magical prowess? Raw strength?

Harry could safely assume it was not that last one. He was a scrawny, nearly fifteen-year-old boy. Yes, he was a fair hand at dueling, though he highly doubted he could stand long against an adult that had spent years and years practicing. He was also fairly confident in his use of Mind Magic, he could hold his father at bay reliably while still keeping well aware of his surroundings. That at least he felt more confident about, given Severus had kept his intentions well hidden from the Dark Lord in the latter part of the first war and had passed those exact skills down to Harry.

But again, that was defense, not offense. What good would be protecting his mind if Voldemort decided to simply snatch him up the first chance he got and kill him without any of the pomp and circumstance he’d tried for at the graveyard?

All the whirling possibilities pinged around the inside of his head at all hours, keeping him from any sort of proper rest no matter how thoroughly he cleared his mind before bed each night.

_Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives..._

Perhaps that was what the prophecy meant by living and surviving. Not the existence of a beating heart in his chest and air in his lungs, but the freedom to do more than shuffle around a slowly decaying townhouse or dig into the earth outside of a cabin that was not his home. Was it really living if nothing he did felt like anything?

What would happen if _Harry_ just up and decided to get the drop on Voldemort? Find out where he was squirreled away and just go there, get the entire thing over with?

He would die, is what. A disapproving voice in the back of his mind murmured darkly, it sounded equal parts like his father and Blaise. Both of whom would berate him nine ways from Sunday if they ever even got the inkling that the thought had crossed his mind.

It wouldn’t work in any case, not with horcruxes still out there and unknown. Not to mention the one hitching a ride in his skull.

So, research. And a lot of it.

He very nearly wished Hermione Granger was there to help with the task, that was a girl who loved to wade through vast amounts of knowledge for every tiny scrap of information.

He had his father, at least. The man had been tentative around Harry for the last week, ever since he’d shared those memories. But Harry had refused to allow him to withdraw back into his black mood. They were a family and they would stick together through this hardship. The stubborn streak in Harry would allow for nothing less.

Jax was still being chilly towards the Potions Master, but Harry had reminded the serpent that they would have likely never met had things gone differently that night. Jax had not been impressed with that logic, insisting that Harry would have been spared so much grief and pain even if it meant that Jax’s mother might never have found him.

“ _There will always be grief and pain,_ ” Harry had countered, stoking the agitated serpent’s flank, “ _that’s life. And we can’t change what’s happened. Not without risking far too much else going horrendously wrong in the process._ ”

He had no idea the scope of the Time Turners hidden deep down in the Department of Mysteries, of how far back they might stretch. But it was not a possibility he was even going to allow himself to consider. Harry was no that selfish a person to try and play god for the chance at a better childhood. He was not the only person to have lost people to war or hate or happenstance. He had made peace with that already, they needed to look forward now, not back.

It came as little surprise that Harry had almost completely forgotten about the birthday-dinner-that-was-not-a-party by the time Draco came to fetch him from the library. The blond looked dressed up more than usual, in some of his smartest looking robes and his hair carefully combed, though thankfully not slicked back in the way he had used to wear it when they were younger.

He rolled his gray eyes at Harry’s more dishevelled appearance and bustled him out of the library and up to the room they shared.

Harry let the other boy fuss over him for longer than he would usually tolerate, something that Draco picked up on easily when there were none of the usual protests as Draco brought out a brush, wielding it like a dagger he meant to sink into whatever malevolent force kept Harry’s hair from behaving as he thought it should.

“I know you’re stalling.” Draco sniffed, pulling the brush through Harry’s messy locks with grim determination. “It won’t be so bad as you’re thinking.”

“I just don’t see the point,” he sighed, wincing slightly at a particularly forceful tug.

“The _point_ , Harry, is that we cannot let them win. We must show that we are not afraid, nor are we about to just lay down take whatever beatings they think we are owed.”

“By having a dinner party?”

“Exactly. A dinner party. One held in the last ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. One at which those of all blood status will sit in attendance and be served equally. One where we will gather and show that fear and shadows and threats will not dampen our resolve or spirits.”

“You are going to make a terrifying politician one day,” Harry said, reeling a little from the utter conviction in the other boy’s tone and feeling encouraged despite all his latent worries.

“Oh, I know,” Draco was smirking now, Harry could hear it in his voice as he tossed the brush aside and allow him to finally stand.

The expression was wiped away a moment later as Harry pulled him into a surprise hug. It was very nearly as unexpected to Harry himself, even as he found himself instigating it.

“Thank you, Draco.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t even given you your present.” Draco protested, returning the embrace in his own pointy manner, probably just as confused as Harry was by the sudden display of affection.

“Not about that.”

“I know...” Draco lost the teasing edge to his voice and the hug softened into something warmer and less awkward, “I should really be the one thanking you. Merlin only knows what kind of a prat I would be if you hadn’t kicked me into thinking for myself.”

“You would have got there in the end.” Harry was sure of that.

“Maybe.” Draco did not seem nearly as confident as he disengaged from the hug and pulled his artfully tailored robes free of imaginary wrinkles. “Let’s get downstairs, I want to give you your present.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I did, it’s only proper. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Harry smoothed down his own robes (picked out by Draco, along with well matched earrings) and followed behind with Jax in his arms.

The dining hall was on the ground floor, past the door to the kitchen and down a hallway that Harry had never been before, as he usually did not venture past the warm glow of the kitchen. There was a murmur of sound audible as they drew closer and Kreacher opened the heavy door just as they arrived.

“Welcome, Harry Snape, guest of honor. And Draco Malfoy, scion of the House of Black. Kreacher will be showing you to your seats now.” The wizened elf looked to have spruced up for the occasion, the white fluff sprouting from his bat-like ears neatly combed and the tea towel he wore freshly laundered and emblazoned with the Black family crest.

Harry began following the slow moving elf, a faint smile creeping up on him in spite of everything, only to stop dead halfway across the room as he caught sight of just who else was in attendance.

Blaise. Sitting near the end of a very long and richly appointed banquet table and tipping a silver goblet at Harry with that mischievous, knowing smirk. Harry could feel a flush running up the back of his neck and over his ears as his heart gave an almighty lurch in the direction of the other boy.

“See? I did say you would enjoy my present.” Draco teased in a tone low enough for only Harry to hear as he nudged them to start moving again. “I’ve been negotiating with Signora Zabini all summer to get her to allow Blaise to come. She’s been understandably reticent about it, given the current situation, but I can be very persuasive when need be.”

Harry had stopped listening, he had overtaken Kreacher, to the elf’s chagrin, and was finding it rather difficult to curb his momentum when Blaise was so close. Thankfully, Blaise seemed to be possessed of a firmer grasp on the practicalities of the moment and caught Harry with open arms when he came barreling in. Jax let out a hiss of squished protest between them but all Harry could do was breath in the scent of Blaise and feel the warmth of the other boy around him and try not to dissolve into a weeping mess whilst surrounded far too many nosey people. 

“ _It’s alright, treasure,_ ” Blaise whispered into his ear, the familiar smooth rolling of Italian soothing away so many aches inside him, “ _I’m here, it’s going to be alright._ ”

In his head, Harry knew they were empty platitudes, that Blaise could not possibly know if anything would ever be okay again. But Harry’s head was not in charge at the moment. His heart, pounding loud in his ears and far too full to possibly sustain itself, was drowning out all other protests.

Blaise was there and some of the grinding scattered pieces inside of him seemed to finally realign.


	9. Chapter 9

“How long can you stay?” Harry asked Blaise, the words quiet and spoken into the velutinous fabric covering the boy’s shoulder.

They were curled close together on a lounge in the parlor, alone but for Jax sleeping on the hearth and the occasional sound of footsteps in the hall. The dinner had gone well enough, Harry supposed, from what small mind he had paid to it. Most of his attention had been on Blaise beside him and how simply being near him had loosened Harry’s knotted shoulders and allowed him to breathe freely for the first time in what felt like _months_.

There had been food (Kreacher made a very nice curry, Harry had to admit) and the promised tiny treacle tarts. Then an embarrassing round of singing to wish him a happy birthday followed by far too many presents for Harry to be even close to comfortable accepting. Especially given the fact that most came from people that Harry had relatively little contact with.

Thankfully the Weasley end of the table seemed to provide a continuous distraction for most of the guests and Harry had to do very little to engage anyone that was not Blaise.

“The rest of the summer, if I have any say in the matter.” Blaise answered, a firm edge to the words as he pulled Harry closer still by the long arm he had wrapped around him.

Normally, Harry would not want such prolonged and emotionally fraught contact. But he had not seen Blaise in so long, and with the intervening time holding such dark calamity, Harry was taking comfort where he could.

“Where are you staying?”

“Draco mentioned something along the lines of there being room here.” Blaise gestured vaguely around them.

“I could speak with Severus, have him get Remus to tell you where we're holed up. You can stay with us.”

“That would be wonderful, _caro_.” Blaise pressed a soft kiss to Harry's temple and he felt such a rush of warmth that Harry could very nearly forget about all the awful and unfair cruelties the world was sending at him en masse.

~~~~~~~>

Severus Snape leaned against the wall adjacent to the open door of the parlor his son had disappeared into with the Zabini boy. He had escaped the dinner soon after Harry had slipped away and highly doubted his presence would be missed. He was not _eavesdropping_ on the pair, merely standing vigilant. It eased his mind to just be near Harry, he had no desire to listen in on what sweet nothings Zabini was whispering to his son. Severus had very little desire or time to spend on parsing through teenage angst. 

As if to countermand that thought Remus appeared coming down the hall, two glasses holding a measure of amber liquid in hand and that infuriatingly gentle smile on his face. It made something dark and thorned twist inside of him, Severus’ oldest and most loyal friend: Guilt.

“There you are, love,” the man greeted him quietly, handing over one of the thickly-cut crystal tumblers. “You snuck away.”

“I would hardly call it _sneaking_ ,” Severus huffed, taking a sip of what had to be the highest quality whiskey dug up from the Black family stores, “it’s not my fault if that lot is so easily distracted by Fletcher's distasteful anecdotes.”

“You did miss the bit about the contraband llama, a misplaced vat of extra-strength Boil Cure, and one very confused customs officer.”

“However will I go on.” Severus intoned dryly.

Remus snickered a bit into his own glass, moving to rest a shoulder against the wall as well so that he was positioned quite close into Severus’ personal space. He looked up at Severus then, almost coy if not for the mischief dancing in those amber-flecked eyes.

“You know, it’s been a while since we’ve both had an evening free...”

That was true, each of them had been deeply immersed in work for the Order and research into soul jars and the non-lethal removal of them. Severus had spent many a night at Grimmauld Place, sequestered in its darkly eclectic library whilst Remus was running to and fro on any odd errand the Headmaster deemed necessary to further the war effort in this calm before the storm.

Severus could not lie to himself and say the implication was not tempting, but still, that sharp twist of guilt raked away at his insides.

“Perhaps now is not the best time,” he murmured, hiding behind his glass once more.

“Whyever not?” Remus asked plainly, no biting accusation or stung pride in the words, simply inquiry shaded with concern that Severus did not deserve. “You’ve been distant, love. Troubled. Was what you found in the Department of Mysteries really so distressing? You’ve hardly spoken a word to anyone in weeks.”

There was a hand covering his own over the tumbler now, warm against the chill in his blood and Severus expended no small amount of effort to stop himself shaking apart at the sensation.

“I-- I apologise, I did not mean to cause you undue worry.”

“Tell me what has you so rattled, maybe I can help.” Warm fingers brushed over his hand as Remus stepped closer.

“I cannot.” He would have backed away from the contact had the wall not prevent it, at least, that is the excuse Severus deferred to at the moment.

“Can’t or won’t?” Again, there was no accusation, no harsh bite to the words.

How the man could remain such a well of calm was beyond Severus’ ken when it felt as if his own insides were being torn to bloody and ragged shreds.

“Sev... Let me help.” Remus implored after the silence between them stretched too long. “I don’t like seeing in such a state.”

“I, it’s not...” Severus stuttered, he _loathed_ stuttering, and yet he could not prevent the words from tumbling pell-mell from his mouth in so uncouth a manner. “I have done things which I regret.”

“We all have, love.” Remus took the crystal glass from his hand and set both on a nearby console table that held a willow patterned vase of dried nightshade blooms so that he might better clasp Severus’ hands between his own. “And we are all striving to make up for them. It gets a bit easier if you share your burden with those that care about you.”

“I fear you would not care so deeply if you knew what atrocity I wrought out of base greed and vainglorious ambition.”

The other man went quiet then, watching Severus sink back into that dark and thorny well of guilt and self-flagellation he was so acclimatized to. He _should_ tell Remus. It would be better for the both of them to not drag out what had been doomed from the onset. Severus should never have fooled himself into believing he deserved the sort of happiness having a partner brought. He should never have allowed himself to sink so far into this miasma of feelings and sentiment that it became almost an impossibility to imagine his life in any configuration that did not involve the wolf.

It would be painful when Remus released just the sort of monster he was. Far beyond anything the moon could pull from the man.

It would be a punishment well deserved.

And yet, Severus was _weak_. Weak and possessive. He did not wish to endure the rending that the truth would inevitably give way to, even as it felt as if his heart were already cracking under the stress.

“Does Harry know this secret?”

The question startled Severus almost as much as the realisation that Remus was very nearly pressed fully against his front now, their arms trapped between them.

He could feel the other man’s heartbeat, strong and steady from where his captured hands rested against the thin fabric of Remus’ white button down. He must have shed his robes earlier in the evening, there was a thatch of brown chest hair just peeking out from where he had undone one too many buttons. The sight of it was so incongruous to his current train of thought that it took Severus a few moments to grasp onto the question.

“Yes.” The word came out slowly, what was Remus angling for?

“Well, he doesn’t seem to hate you for it.”

“He should.” It was a harsh truth, but a truth nonetheless.

“Why?” Remus demanded, his grip on Severus’ hand growing tighter, to prevent escape or encourage a forthright answer, Severus couldn’t say. “Why should he hate you?”

“Because I would deserve it. Because he would be far better off without me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Severus Snape. You have given more love and support to that boy in the last four years than many fathers give their sons from birth. Don’t you dare say that hasn’t been good for him, or _you_ for that matter. You two have healed each other, even if you refuse to see it.”

“Harry would not need healing if not for me,” Severus spit out, wrenching his hands free and pushing away from the wall and Remus both.

“That’s not true.”

“I am the reason he was targeted by the Dark Lord, I would say that is pretty definitive proof.” The words came out in a hiss, almost too quiet to make out but the stricken look on the other man’s face showed it was enough.

Severus back away still further, turning on his heel and taking the stairs up three at a time. He could not watch the inevitable scorn and enmity crawl its way across the man’s features. Not when they had been so soft a moment before.

“Severus, wait--”

No. He could not. The confession burned through him like fiendfyre, malicious and clawed. He needed to get away.

Remus caught him on the third landing, grabbing him by the arm in a grip far stronger than his usual demure manner would suggest possible.

“Stop. Just stop, Severus. Stop _running_ from me.”

Sometimes, a lot of the time, running felt like the only thing he knew how to do when it came to Remus Lupin.

He tried to pull free once more but Remus refused to let go, crowding Severus back against the nearest wall and leveling him with a glare that held far more amber in it than it should so far out from the moon.

“Now explain.” His tone had finally lost its gentle edge as Remus growled out the demand. “Explain exactly what you meant by that.”

Severus scowled, falling back into the comfort of defensive biting retorts, “I meant exactly what I said. It should come as no surprise to you, Lupin, that I am _poison_ and always have been.”

“Don't give me that _Lupin_ shit, Severus. We are well past the point of petty jabs to try and rile me up.” Remus emphasized the point by poking Severus hard in his drawn up and curled shoulders. “Trying to drive me away won't work, I've proven that enough in the past two years. Now, stop assuming you know my own mind better than I do and tell me what has had you twisted into knots so I can _help_.”

Tenacious wolf.

Severus was still scowling, but more out of a lack of options than true animosity toward the man.

No, he had not hated Remus Lupin in a very long time.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Which was what made what he had to say all the more painful. If only the man would have the good sense to leave him when pushed. Blasted Gryffindor bullheadedness.

“Not here,” he relented, sending pointed looks at the portraits lining the walls.

“Our room then,” Remus commanded, putting a particular emphasis on the dual possessive and pulling Severus down a flight to the previous landing and the room that had been cleared away for them weeks ago.

Inside there were no portraits, but there was a rather spaciously appointed bed and a desk overflowing with books and research notes. Had Kreacher not kept vigilant watch over the space, Severus knew there would be teacups piled in near equal measure to the tomes given the number of late nights spent there pouring over them.

Severus crossed the space in long strides and stood with his arms folded over his chest in a posture that was far more defensive than he wished to project, but he could not force them into a less obvious configuration at present.

Remus stood before him, arms akimbo and simply stared with an air of expectant patience, as if the man were willing to keep them in stalemate indefinitely.

Severus thought about testing that theory but ultimately knew it would be better to cauterize this wound rather than leave it to fester. If things were to end between them, Severus would rather not drag it out more than he needed to.

The callousness of the thought rang false even in his own mind and Severus felt his hands clenched into fists against it, blunt nails digging hard into his palms. Severus, if given half a chance, would cling to any scrap of affection the man saw fit to offer him until the guilt burned him away from the inside out.

Weak.

Desperate.

_Poison._

“In the first war, I overheard a prophecy...” Shoring up his fragile conviction to do the right thing with rigid and well-practiced Occlumency, Severus told Remus everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the lateness of this chapter (and it's somewhat shorter length), things have just been a bit hectic at work this past week and I could not find time to write. Hopefully things will calm down soon, but I may have to start posting things closer to mondays or tuesdays rather than the weekend proper going forward. Thank you everyone who is reading! We should be getting to Hogwarts soon!


	10. Chapter 10

“So what you’re telling me is that the final catalyst that led to you changing sides was a scrap of overheard Divination that sowed consequences you deemed untenable, and so you then did everything within your power to try and right that wrong?” Remus spoke slowly, with little inflection in his voice. He had not said a word during the entirety of Severus’ confession but had gone noticeably pale.

“That is not-- I am _telling_ you that it is. My. Fault. _My_ fault that your best friend was murdered in his home. _My_ fault that Lily died screaming. _My_ fault that Harry grew up under the thumb of people so vile that it left him damaged in such a way that it has taken me _years_ to even begin to mend.” Severus cut a sharp hand through the air between them, had Remus not heard a word he'd said?

“You cannot take that burden on yourself, not completely. It was war, we all did terrible things that we regret. You may have passed on fatal information, but _Peter_ was the one to sell them out. If this prophecy is to hold any weight, Voldemort would have found a way to them no matter your involvement, love.”

Severus flinched, not at the Dark Lord’s name, but at the endearment that fell far too easily from the man’s lips.

“You cannot shift blame to a prophecy that he would not have heard if I had not told him.”

“I can blame whomever or whatever I damn well please, Severus Snape,” Remus’ eyes flashed in anger as he took long strides across the room to poke viciously at Severus’ chest. “Why not Sybill, for speaking it in the first place? Or Albus for holding a job interview in a dirty _pub_. Or James and Sirius for switching Secret Keepers without telling me? Or _Lily_ for never trying to mend things with you because she was too hot-headed to see how much it pushed you over that final edge?”

“Do _not_ bring Lily into this!” Severus hissed, drawing himself up and returning Remus’ glare with one of his own, blood rushing loud in his ears as he felt his frown twist into a snarl.

“She wasn’t perfect, Severus,” Remus did not back down, poking him harder in the same spot, surely leaving a bruise behind, “I know you want to think that, you have this shining image of her in your head. But she could be just as arrogant and bloody stubborn as James when the mood struck her. She could have told me about switching Secret Keepers or any other number of things that would have let me better protect them, but she didn’t. James didn’t. Sirius didn’t. Peter sure as fuck didn’t. Towards the end, it was almost as if I were as anathema to them as _you_.”

“That can’t be true.” Severus managed, the ferocity of the man before him so discordant with his usual manner that it was effectively diffusing the instinctive biting fury that had been building inside him at the perceived slight against his oldest friend.

“Of course it fucking well is,” Remus hissed right back, doing a fair impression of Severus himself, “I am a _dark creature_ and they knew that.”

“They were your friends.” Severus protested, that same defensive heat bubbling up again, when had he begun to care so much?

“It was war. We weren’t children anymore. At Hogwarts, it was all mischievous and exciting to have a secret, to run about thinking we were so clever. I was Moony, I had a _furry little problem_. Then they saw what could really happen if I was not kept under control. What other werewolves did during the full moon, the savagery being led across the country by Voldemort and his followers. Suddenly it was not so fun to have one of those _things_ so close at hand.”

“You would never--” Severus started, only to be cut off by a weary sigh as Remus withdrew back into himself. Shrinking before his eyes, returned to his regular, almost mousey, demeanor.

“Not willingly, no. And they knew that as well. I’m being cruel and bitter, forgive me. I do not believe it was a conscious effort on their part, but it happened all the same. I was being slowly pushed away, sent on more dangerous missions, I never even got to see baby Harry again after they went into hiding. Sirius never-- _Peter_ never told me where they were. And then James and Lily were dead, Harry sent to live with his Aunt. Sirius in Azkaban. It’s as much my fault that Harry grew up the way he did as anyone's. I never went to check on him, I trusted that Albus knew best. I selfishly went to go lick my own wounds in a world void of almost everyone I held dear.”

Severus was not quite sure how it happened, but at some point in the last three seconds he had dropped from his own defensive pose and pulled Remus into a firm embrace. The man let out a shocked sort of breath, which was something of a relief as Severus was very uncertain as to when his first instinct had shifted to attempting comfort rather than projecting scorn. Remus clung to him and shuddered, or perhaps that was Severus.

Either way, this was not how he had envisioned the conversation ending. Remus should have seen him for the monster that he was and cut him from his life. He should have fed into the truth of Severus’ guilt and demanded retribution.

He should not be garnering comfort and stability from what meager stores of it that Severus possessed.

And yet... and yet.

“Severus, _love_...”

“Shh.” He hushed the man gently, as much to save himself the wrenching of his own heart at the words as to keep Remus from spilling yet more unpredictable emotionality into the minute space between them. He doubted either of them would come out the other end of such a thing unscathed, or at the very least dry eyed.

“No, listen,” Remus persisted anyway, which Severus should have foreseen, “I want to thank you.”

“What could you possibly have to thank me for?” He asked incredulously, earning a choked sounding chuckle from the man and a renewed squeeze around his middle.

“For trusting me with this. For telling me the truth. I can’t be so idle this time around. I refuse to be pushed aside when I can help.”

“Of course,” Severus managed after a moment.

How had things become so twisted around? He should have been begging the man’s forgiveness, not reassuring him of his usefulness.

“I love you.” The words fell unbidden, far too easy for all the sleepless nights and restless days spent tightly wound up over his own inability to speak them.

Remus made another choking sound before surging up and kissing him with enough force to knock them both back into the wall two steps behind them with an audible thump.

And that was _most_ certainly not how he had seen things playing out when Remus had ushered him into the room. It was getting harder to quite remember what he was supposed to be doing at the moment as Remus had followed his rush forward to press all along his front in a very determined fashion.

It _had_ been rather a long time...

~~~~~~~>

Harry walked along the perimeter of the wards surrounding the Prince cabin, for once without the persistent cloud of restlessness that had so plagued the exercise before. A large aspect of his improved mood being the fact that Blaise now walked beside him. They may have also been holding hands, but Harry wasn't about to admit to such. Jax slithered in the grass ahead of them, snapping at the occasional bug and enjoying the August warmth.

It had been a week since his birthday dinner and most of it had been spent at the cabin with the occasional trip to Grimmauld Place. It had not been very difficult to convince his father to allow Blaise to stay with them, far easier than he had expected, really. Severus seemed to have finally pulled a good bit free of the dark mood that had encapsulated him since the Dark Lord’s rise. He was by no means _jovial_ , but his usual frowns were not so severe and the lines that had taken up residence on his forehead smoothed over somewhat.

Remus, who had been growing more sullen as the days passed also seemed back to his usual well of calm, even as the moon approached its zenith and began taking its toll on the man.

In the past week, Harry had shown Blaise around the Prince cabin and its grounds. Taking them in winding walks through the twisted and gnarled oaks that made up much of the surrounding forest. He had a feeling Blaise was indulging him in this, as the other boy had very rarely volunteered himself for any sort of outdoor activity. Though he did join in whenever Severus began lessons on defense. Blaise was as quick with his wand as he was with a smirk and Harry found himself grinning more often than not when they were set to sparring.

He had not told Blaise about the prophecy, or the evil hitching a ride in his skull, but they had spoken of the graveyard. What Harry had seen, what had been done to him.

It should have been more difficult to talk about. And perhaps if it were anyone other than Blaise, it would have been. He certainly hadn’t revealed nearly as much to Draco. He had barely spoken about it with his _father_. But Blaise... it just seemed natural to confess how scared he’d been. How he still shuddered remembering the agonizing bite of the Cruciatus. It had been the worst pain of his entire life. Far surpassing any cruelties bestowed upon him by his relatives and even the blistering heat of fending off Quirrell in first year.

He never wanted to feel that pain again.

But, as was ever the case in his life, Harry knew it to be a vain hope.

When he had shared those thoughts with Blaise, the other boy had not looked down at him with pity or as if he were a fragile bit of spun glass ready to shatter at any moment. No, his jawline had gone firm and a dangerous fire seemed to light behind his brown eyes as Blaise cupped warm hands to Harry’s face and said in a low promise, “If anyone even attempts to do so, I will make certain they never get the chance to raise a wand again.”

“You can’t promise that,” Harry had protested, comforted by the threat of vengeance more than he probably should have been.

“No one is allowed to hurt you, _amore_ ,” he emphasised the point with a firm kiss, “I will not stand for it. We are not helpless. We are not alone. Those cowardly pieces of pigshit won’t even get the chance to try.”

“ _Yeah!_ ” Jax had chimed in with an enthusiastic head-bob of agreement, “ _If I ever see any of those fuckers, I’m gonna burn them to bloody ash!_ ”

Harry sighed, as much as he appreciated the sentiment, it was a dangerous promise to be making and not one he wished to ever see tested.

“I don't want you getting hurt on my account,” he said, grabbing onto Blaise's wrists where he still held Harry's face hostage but not making any move to push the other boy away, “either of you. I don't... I don't know what I would do if something happened to you because of me.”

“Harry, _caro_ , it would never be on you. You are not the one running around terrorizing people and torturing innocents. I won't stand by and let you face that alone.” Another, softer kiss was placed on his brow and Harry shuddered again, not from remembered pain but the overwhelming rush of affection he felt for the boy before him.

Still, he would be doing everything within his power to make certain that Blaise would never have to act on those words. The darkness before them was vast and grasping, and it did not care for the promises of fifteen year old boys.

For now, they had the rest of the summer before them to prepare... or sometimes to pretend as if nothing were happening outside the bubble of long walks or late nights spent talking or listening to Blaise fiddle around with one instrument or another that they had come across in an unused room of the cabin. In those moments, Harry could almost find himself relaxing.

As if summoned by his positive mood there was a rustling up along the path where it forked off beyond the reach of the wards into a much denser trail. Jax let out a low, sharp hiss and started forward. Harry dropped Blaise’s hand as he hurried to grab Jax before the serpent could get into any trouble; whatever was coming through sounded large.

“We should go back,” Blaise cautioned, his wand in hand as the boy sent a narrow look in the direction of the disturbance.

“Yeah, yeah, it could be--” Harry agreed. 

Just as Jax hissed out in surprise, “ _It smells like--!_ ”

Through the undergrowth and over the tangled roots came a troop of stubby legged and barrel chested bulldogs, at least ten of them and all on different colored leashes clipped to matching harnesses like some sort of snuffly, uncoordinated sled team. They were all knocking into one another or else snorting around in the dirt and leaves, letting out the occasional low _woof_. 

Harry stared with wide eyes, tracing the leads back to their owner only to then suck in a breath so quickly it got caught in his throat and he started coughing.

Luckily, they were still within the wards, so no sound or sight could travel past them to alert the person corralling the hoard of bulldogs.

“ _Caro_? Are you alright? We should go back, it was just a muggle this time but I think we should stick closer to the cabin.” Blaise rubbed soothing circles on his back as Harry got himself under control.

“No. I need to... I _know_ him.” Harry took an unconscious step forward, his arms tightening around Jax as the serpent had gone deadly silent and stiff, poised to strike.

“What? No, Harry, stop,” Blaise hissed, grabbing the back of his shirt. “What do you mean you know him?”

Harry glanced briefly back at Blaise before returning his wide-eyed gaze back to the dogs and their owner, who was taking a moment to untangle a trio of leashes with gentle voiced admonishments to the panting, happy, things. It was a tone that Harry had never imagined could possibly emanate from the person before him.

Then again, Dudley Dursley did not resemble the child Harry had grown up with much any longer.

“He’s my cousin.”

And it was. Though gone was the fat boy who had seemed well on his way to being wider than he was tall. With mean, beady eyes and that horrid, malicious grin he would wear whenever he thought he was making Harry’s life miserable, which was often. No, this boy was still big, yes, but it was all muscle. Hidden not very well under a rugby jersey and well worn denims. His blond hair was no longer the well combed part Petunia favored, but more of a messy shag that hung around his ears. To be fair, the mess could have been from handling an army of bulldogs dragging him through the forest in August.

The most startling change, however, was in the eyes. Or perhaps not the _eyes_ , precisely, but his whole expression.

It was... warm. Gentle. The smile that stretched across his face as he watched the dogs tumble over one another was so genuine that it almost made Harry _angry_ to see it on the face of the boy who had spent so many years tormenting him. Where had that compassion been when he was sleeping in a _cupboard_? Starved to the bone and hurting? 

“Your-- Harry, _stop_.” Blaise reaffirmed his grip on his shirt and pulled Harry back.

“Let go,” Harry demanded, Jax hissed out an angry agreement, not taking his jewel bright eyes off of Dudley, who was now being tackled to the ground by his charges and licked enthusiastically. Harry could hear his cousin’s low laughter at the assault and it set acid to burning his throat.

“No, it could be a trap. An illusion.”

“It’s not, that’s him.”

“How do you know?”

“ _I’ll never forget the scent of that little shit. Can I bite him, please?_ ”

“No, Jax, not yet.” Harry pulled his shirt free of Blaise’s hand but didn’t move away. “Jax can smell him.”

“So? Polyjuice, then. Or any number of other things. They could be trying to lure you out.”

“With my cousin? I _hate_ my cousin. I haven't seen him since I was _eleven_. And they would have to know where I am, which nobody does. Remus hasn’t even told _Dumbledore_ , and he’s head of the Order.” A thing Harry was exceedingly grateful for, one of the last things he wanted was the Headmaster popping in at all hours.

“Harry,” Blaise pleaded, touching his elbow where it stuck out from holding Jax in arms, “it’s too dangerous.”

“I need to talk to him, I... I just need to.”

A fire burned in his belly, this was something that Harry had to do. He had never thought he’d see his cousin again, had attempted to slam that book of his life closed forever, no matter the shadows that still crept out if its pages when he let his guard down. But seeing Dudley before him now and so seemingly different... Harry took the few strides needed to cross over the wards before Blaise could stop him again.

“Dudley.” He called down the path, his cousin had recovered from the tackle and had started the dogs back to moving so he was a good few meters away.

The other boy jumped, startled, and looked over his massive shoulder, “Yes, who-- _Harry_?”

Dudley’s eyes went just as wide as Harry’s had and he almost tripped over a number of leads as a few of the dogs had circled around his legs as they both stood and stared at one another for what felt like a small eternity.

“Riley, Bongo, Tootsie, sit.” Surprisingly, the dogs sat on their round rumps immediately, allowing Dudley to untangle himself.

Then he and Harry continued to stare.

He didn’t know what to do now that he’d confronted the other boy. The fire still burned inside him, directionless and consuming. But still he just stood there and held onto Jax and _stared_.

“What are you doing out here?” Dudley finally broke the heavy silence.

“Walking.”

“Oh. Same.” Dudley gestured vaguely with his massive fistful of leashes and they lapsed into silence again.

“ _Can I bite him now?_ ” Jax hissed, stretching up and baring his fangs, prompting a round of deep growling from the most of the dogs, though one was too busy chewing on a stick it had found to bother.

“Is that a snake?” Dudley blinked slowly, seemingly as startled by seeing the serpent as Harry himself.

“Yes. His name is Jax.” Harry sniffed, managing to push aside enough of his own confusion to scowl in what he hoped was a fair imitation of his father. “He lived with me in my cupboard. You never met him before because I refused to give you the opportunity to hurt him.”

And Dudley... Dudley _flinched_.

“That, that was wrong,” Dudley said slowly, his big, square face looking pained and guilty as he twisted the leads between his large hands. “What they, what _we_ did to you. It was wrong. I'm sorry.”

It was Harry's turn to blink. Whatever response he had been expecting, that had not been it. Dudley should be yelling at him. He should be blaming Harry for getting his parents sent to prison. He should not be standing there with a trembling lip and sad blue eyes and far too many dogs crowding around his knees.

The fire still swirled inside him, twisting in confused frustration at how out of sorts this situation was turning. So Harry did the only thing he could and glared harder at the other boy, Jax matching his ire.

“After... after they sent me to Aunt Marge, I was angry. So angry. The other kids at school, the ones I thought were my friends, they all turned on me.” Dudley continued, filling the air with words when Harry failed to respond verbally. “It was h-horrible. I was a-alone and angry, I got in a lot of fights. Aunt Marge eventually had to transfer me to a new school.”

Harry wanted to take pleasure in the knowledge that Dudley had got some of his own medicine, that he knew what it was like to have no friends, to be ridiculed. But it was difficult with his cousin standing there, looking like a mopey teddy bear and pouring his heart out to Harry because of his apparent need to fill the space between them with words as Harry continued to stand there silently with an agitated snake in his arms.

“She lives ‘roud here, Marge does. Needs lots of land for the dogs, don’t she? The new school, they uh, they weren’t no better, not really. ‘Cept I got pushed into boxing. Guess they figured if I was gonna punch shite, I might as well do it in a direction that was useful. I didn’t care, really. But it was sommit to do. A way to channel all that anger. At... At first, I imagined all them kids I knocked out was you. I _hated_ you, for what you did to my family.” Dudley’s bottom lip was wobbling dangerously again and Harry flat out refused to feel any sort of guilt over it, Vernon and Petunia had got what they deserved. “I-it took a long time for me to admit that it wasn’t you that was to blame. We were horrible to you, from the very start. I-I don’t know why, Mum never told me why. I never questioned why you slept in the cupboard, I was just happy to have two rooms all to myself. I never thought twice about h-hitting you, or laughing when Dad threw you around. But it was wrong, it was _wrong_.”

“Did they tell you about Vernon?” Harry managed to croak out. He wanted to rail against Dudley, to rage and scream and vent all his frustrations from the last few months onto this boy who had caused him so much pain in their youth.

But this Dudley was not _that_ Dudley. Not the malicious, spiteful, spoiled brat that had broken most of the fingers in his hand for fun. No. This one had gone down a hard road and come out the other side gentler for it. This Dudley had learned empathy. This Dudley had finally given up the battle with his trembling lip and now had tears streaming from his blue eyes as confused dogs pawed at his legs.

“A m-man came by. D-dressed in funny c-clothes. He... he t-t-told me. M-Mum writes s-sometimes, when... when they let her. Mostly it d-don’t make any sense, b-but she s-s-said it was true.”

“I won’t apologise,” Harry growled. He bore too many scars to ever feel sorry, no matter the mess his cousin was making of himself before him.

“No, no, you-- I wouldn’t--”

“Damn right you wouldn’t,” Blaise cut in, crossing the barrier to stand next to Harry, his arms folded and glaring down the path at Dudley. “You’ve done enough damage already. I should blast you all the way to the moors and let the crows at all your bloody bits for what you and yours did to him. Your own _kin_.”

“ _Not before I bite him!_ ” Jax protested.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” Dudley sniffed, whipping his nose on the sleeve of his striped rugby jersey and turning confused, reddened, eyes on the new arrival. “I don’t want to fight. I’m done fighting people outside the ring. I’m sorry.”

“You haven't even begun to be sorry you _miserabili pezzo di merda_ ,” Blaise growled, lapsing into Italian as his fury seemed to grow.

“Blaise, stop, it’s fine,” Harry freed one of his hands to touch the other boy on the elbow in much the same way he had done to Harry earlier.

“It is _not_ fine, _caro_. He _hurt_ you.”

“And I _dealt_ with it already.” Harry didn’t know why he was suddenly defending his cousin, perhaps he was tired of fighting people as well. Or he could see that the boy had been punished enough already. Practically orphaned, as Harry had been. Outcast by his peers and forced to gain perspective. There were bigger evils in the world now than Dudley Dursley.

It felt almost as if a long bleeding wound inside of him finally cauterized, the fire that had been swirling inside him managing to heal over old damage and burn away long held resentment. It was a catharsis that Harry had been in dire need of without knowing. Closure over that chapter of his life.

Maybe that was why Dudley had just spilled his guts to Harry with absolutely zero prompting.

“ _Harry_...” Blaise tried again.

“ _Blaise_...” Harry countered, prying the boy’s arms from their severe posture and threading their fingers together, “I’ve taken care of it. Trust me. It’s not worth it, not now.”

“Wait, are you two...?” Dudley was blinking again, the misery washing away as confusion took over, then a dawning comprehension as he flushed a bright red and quickly averted his eyes from their clasped hands. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Harry might have laughed at how hard Dudley was trying to avoid looking at them if not for the fact that his father had just come striding through the trees with a furious expression on his face. Furious and worried, then at the sight if the red-faced Dudley, mildly baffled.

“ _What_ precisely are you doing outside the wards?!” He hissed in a fair approximation of Jax.

Harry nodded at Dudley and his hoard of bulldogs that were a mixture of restless to get moving again and content to lay in the dirt and pant heavily for the next eternity.

“Did it not occur to you that this might be a trap?” Severus growled, an unmistakable edge of relief creeping into his tone at finding Harry unharmed.

“That’s what I said,” Blaise sniffed, “he wouldn’t listen. So I sent up the signal.”

Harry shot Blaise a moderately betrayed look, but it held no heat behind it, he _had_ been idiotic to go past the wards.

“At least one of you has your wits about you.” His father snorted, grabbing them both by the shoulder and turning them away towards the cabin with purpose.

“Wait! I know you,” Dudley called after them. “You came by the house once, Dad sent me upstairs, but I saw you.”

Severus leveled Dudley with a searching look, mouth curled with residual ire.

“Pray you do not see me again, Mr. Dursley. I doubt it would be a pleasant encounter for either party. And if I were you, I’d forget this meeting as well.” The implied threat was enough to shut Dudley up and get him nodding.

Just before they reached the invisible magical boundary, Harry impulsively shot over his shoulder, “Watch yourself, Dudley. Things are about to get bad in the world.”

“Um, a-alright, Harry.” Was the uncertain reply before the three of them seemingly vanished, causing his cousin to let out a startled squeak, prompting another round of soft _woofs_ from the many dogs.

“Do you understand how monumentally idiotic that was?” Severus halted them when they were far enough that the twisted oaks once more obscured the path behind.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to...” Actually, Harry had no idea what he’d been thinking. Seeing his cousin after so many years had thrown him for such a loop that it seemed to knock all good sense out of his head. “I won’t do it again. I should have listened to Blaise.”

“Damn right, you should have.” The boy muttered, but took up Harry’s hand again, softening the admonishment.

“No more walking so far from the cabin, and never without myself, Remus, Regulus, or your godfather with you. You were very lucky this time.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, a hot wash of shame curdling his insides.

“Harry,” His father sighed, pinching his nose in a way Harry had not seen him do in so very long. “Son, I’m trying to protect you. I can’t lose you.”

“I know, I was stupid and impulsive.”

“Come. It’s getting late.” Severus grabbed the pair of them again and Side-Alonged back to the cabin that was not his home and hustled them inside.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour’s time, be certain you are not late.”

“Yes, Dad.” Harry demurred, his eyes on the floor.

“Yes, sir.” Blaise echoed.

“ _I still say you should have let me bite him._ ” Jax pouted, as the Potions Master disappeared into the sitting room. 

Harry absently stroked the serpent's flank, feeling too guilty to laugh, but still oddly lighter than he had that morning.


	11. Chapter 11

Hogwarts was exactly as Harry remembered it.

He was unsure why he had expected any different. Perhaps it was himself that had changed. So much had happened to him since the last time he had set eyes on the castle.

Harry and Blaise were seated at the Slytherin table playing a half-hearted game of wizard chess while they waited for the train to arrive and fill the Great Hall with students once more. Severus had not wanted them to ride the Hogwarts Express, deeming it too risky a mode of transportation and Harry was inclined to agree. So he and Blaise had Side-Alonged to the gates with his father and spent much of the morning situating themselves once more into the familiar, green-tinged confines of the Slytherin dorms.

Jax hissed at the chessboard, startling a white pawn into moving forward a space and Harry figured that was as good a move as any. Blaise hmm’d, tapping his chin with a well-manicured finger before ordering a pointy-hatted bishop along at a slant to impale one of Harry’s hapless knights.

“ _Oh, fuck you pretty boy._ ” Jax huffed and Harry let out a snort of laughter. “ _Make the rook smash his dumb horse._ ” The snake demanded, and seeing no real reason not to, Harry complied.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow as it became apparent a few moves later that he was playing against Jax more than Harry. Jax was doing pretty well too, probably better than Harry would have in actuality. Probably due to all the time he spent in Draco’s or Blaise’s lap demanding pets while they played.

As if summoned by Harry’s wandering thoughts, Draco himself wandered into the Hall accompanied by his cousin Tonks, who was looking around with obvious nostalgia.

“Wotcher, fellas.” She greeted them with a shining smile made brighter by the hot pink tint of her short hair. “I figured I might as well walk this one up to the ol’ castle instead of just plonking him down at the gates.”

She ruffled Draco’s perfectly coiffed hair, making the boy scowl mightily, “Thank you, Nymphadora, I believe you have escorted me far enough.”

“ _Tonks_ , cousin, how many times must I tell you.” Tonks scowled back, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her sweet, heart-shaped face.

“ _Nymphadora_ is a proper name, you should be proud Aunt Andromeda bestowed it upon you.” Draco sniffed, combing careful fingers through his mussed locks.

Tonks just rolled her eyes, an air of long-suffering about her.

“Ach, away with ye. I’m gonna go see if I can spy out Sprout for a chat, see how the recent batch of badgers have been shaping up since I went and graduated.” She winked, “You try’n stay out of trouble, Dray, yeah? Write me if you see anything fishy. Or if you hear any good gossip. In fact, I expect to hear from you even if it’s just to natter about your coursework.”

“Surely there isn’t a need for all that.” Draco protested, although not nearly as vehemently as Harry might have expected. “And I would prefer it if you would use _my_ proper name.”

“Sure there is, _Dray_ ,” she teased, “I like to keep tabs on the family that matters, yeah? You’re stuck with me, cousin, best get used to it. We Hufflepuff are a tenacious lot.”

She wriggled her fingers at them before stepping off towards the stairs that led to the Hufflepuff common room, tripping down a couple of them before managing to catch herself with a laugh. Draco was rolling his own eyes now, but there was an embarrassed tinge of red across his high cheekbones that betrayed how touched he was by the gesture.

“Do sit down, _Dray darling_ ,” Blaise drawled, gesturing at the mostly empty table with a smirk.

“Oh shut it,” Draco snipped, though he did slide in next to Harry as Jax issued his next command at a shaky looking pawn, managing to capture one of Blaise’s in return after Harry translated. “Are you losing to a snake right now?”

“Obviously not,” Blaise said as he maneuvered his queen into a position that made Jax hiss in a displeased manner, “check.”

“So, any idea who the new Defense professor is?” Draco asked, watching as Jax somehow managed to free them from imminent defeat and put Blaise in check in return, something that Harry himself had never managed in all the games the other boy had prodded him into playing.

“No. It’s not Dad, that’s all I know. Dumbledore overlooked him again.”

“That’s ridiculous, we _need_ him teaching us now more than ever.”

“I know,” Harry agreed, as Jax deliberated over his next move, “I think Dumbledore is being petty because Dad refused to spy for him.”

“That old man is a menace to this school,” Draco groused, “he may be Headmaster and leader of the Order, but that doesn’t give him leave to mess with all of our lives. We need to learn proper defense. Things are about to get dangerous, they _already_ have.”

“Maybe Lupin will come back,” Blaise commented, biting on his lower lip as his eyes darted around the board.

“I don’t think so,” Harry sighed, “he said something about a long term mission. I hope it’s nothing too dangerous. He, Ezra, and Sirius have mostly been at the apothecary, building up emergency stores.”

“Everything is dangerous, now.” Draco sounded a bit hollow and there were bags under his eyes, telling of his lack of sleep in recent weeks.

“Checkmate,” Blaise smirked, prompting Jax to spit a knut-sized glob of molten venom onto the board, sending the remaining pieces scattering for the edges as Blaise’s king took the brunt of the attack, rolling around in what looked to be terrible agony as he melted from either the heat, the highly corrosive nature of the venom, or some combination of the two.

“ _Merda!_ ” Blaise cursed as they all leapt back from the flaming table.

“ _Aguamenti!_ ” Harry and Draco shouted in unison, flooding the Slytherin table and much of the surrounding flagstones with water until the persistent hazard at last smouldered out.

"Do I even wish to ascertain the series of events that lead to this circumstance?" A dryly sardonic voice sounded from behind them.

Harry made a face at his father, "Erm, probably not."

Jax flicked a petulant tongue at the wreckage of the board, the venom had sunken a pockmarked and scorched hole right down to the table. The king was nearly dissolved completely, which seemed a mercy given the way it had been writhing about. The enchantment on the pieces was almost too realistic in that aspect.

Severus flicked his wand and the flood of water vanished. Harry shifted the board to see the table mostly unscathed, thankfully, though there was a tiny scorch mark on the surface. It could have been from anything really. Stuff caught fire all the time at the House tables (sure it was usually the _Gryffindor_ one, but still).

"Count yourself lucky there was no lasting damage to the table, Mr. Snape." His father murmured, though there was an amused quirk to his eyebrow. "Starting the term with detention is not usually a desirous condition."

"Right, sorry." Harry poked at Jax's flank until the serpent reluctantly bobbed his head in agreement.

Blaise meanwhile was giving the board a mournful look that translated into a lot of pouting and wide brown eyes that gave Harry the sudden urge to stroke a comforting hand through the other boy's thick curls. It was perhaps a good thing that Blaise was on the opposite side of the table, or else Harry may have given into the embarrassing display of affection. They had spent so long isolated over the summer that he would have to work to reign in the compulsions he had grown accustomed to, lest he expire from embarrassment.

"I'll buy you a new one." Harry promised instead, which had Blaise _smiling_ at him, and that brought about its own separate rush of affection.

"Thank you, _tesoro_ ," Blaise seemed to have no compunctions about showing his affection as the boy used the advantage of his height to lean across the table and press a kiss to the warm flush of Harry's cheek.

"If you are quite finished attempting to rot the teeth from my skull," Severus said dryly, "I did have some information to impart."

"What is it? Has something happened?" A frisson of fear-tinged anxiety shot through him, ridding Harry thoroughly of the warm comfort he had been feeling just moments before.

"No, not as such." Severus set a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, a steady reassurance. "I have just left a staff meeting wherein we were introduced to the new Defense instructor."

A scowl had twisted his father's expression, that did not bode well.

"The Headmaster failed to find a suitable replacement and the Ministry has seen fit to assign one of its own choosing."

"A spy," Draco cut in, a furious glint in his gray eyes, "a plant to ensure that we all toe the line."

"Just so," Severus tilted his head in the blond's direction, "as such, I trust you will _all_ be wise enough not to do anything to draw attention to yourselves."

A pointed look at the destroyed chessboard emphasized his meaning.

"Of course, sir. It's in our nature to be subtle, being Slytherin." Blaise was smirking again.

"One would assume," Harry's father murmured, "albeit one should _never_ assume if they wish to get very far in anything."

"Who is it?" Harry asked, curious.

"Dolores Umbridge," Severus sneered.

"The Undersecretary?" Harry and Draco voiced at the same time with near identical displeased inflection.

"The very same," Severus confirmed. "And thus you see the severity of the situation. I do not wish to hear a single hint of any of you stepping out of line with her, no matter how objectionable you find her or her teaching. We have quite enough to be getting on with at the moment without incurring bureaucratic wrath.”

“It should have been you,” Harry frowned.

“Yes. It should have.” His father agreed gravely, “However, we shall adapt and surmount this unfortunate appointing. The train should be arriving momentarily, so I would suggest clearing away this,” he gestured vaguely at the scattered chessmen and mangled board, “detritus before then.”

They all nodded, though Jax was still pouting about his lost game. Harry would need to have a conversation about sportsmanship with the serpent. He couldn’t just go through life setting everything that irked him on fire, no matter how satisfying it might be in the moment. Severus left them to take his place upon the teacher's dais, pulling a book from somewhere within his voluminous robes and flicking through it with the sort of hyper-focused intensity that Harry had become used to over the summer.

The rest of the teachers all trickled in over the course of the next half hour, including the aforementioned Umbridge. Who was just as short and toad-faced as Harry remembered from their brief run in at the Ministry. She was dressed in a rather sickening amount of pink, with a petite silken black bow pinned to her short, curly hair that reminded Harry more of a doomed fly than anything. She scanned the mostly vacant Hall with her slightly bulging-eyed gaze, spending an uncomfortably long moment resting on Harry and his friends He was quite relieved when the other students started arriving, as he had very little desire to be any sort of focus for the woman.

Millicent, when she arrived, plopped down into her usual seat beside Harry and socked him in the shoulder hard before pulling him into a bone-crushing, sideways, embrace.

“You complete shit. You’re not allowed to disappear like that!” She growled as Harry struggled to breathe under the sudden pressure. “And not a single letter all summer!”

“S-sorry,” Harry coughed, “I didn’t want to put you in any danger, I didn’t write to _anybody_ after the term ended.”

“It’s true,” Blaise confirmed with a frown across the table, “we had to rely on _Draco_ to keep us abreast.”

Millicent grunted and released him, the somewhat brutish display of concern warming Harry far more than wounding him; although his shoulder was sure to sport a bruise in the morning.

“I _suppose_ that was the wisest course,” She conceded. “Best not to arouse unwanted suspicion. I was cautious in writing to Justin over the summer, with my Uncles returned from abroad.”

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, concern and fear creeping up his spine.

“Fine.” Millicent huffed in her usual brusque manner, though she had lowered her voice and sent a darting glare up the Slytherin table where many of the sixth and seventh year students were having serious looking conversations with less than kind slants to their features. “I spent most of the summer by myself, avoiding them. They assumed it was teenage angst.”

“You should stay at Hogwarts for the breaks,” Harry insisted. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t go getting tender on me, now.” Millicent grunted again, giving Harry another (only slightly lighter) punch to the same shoulder, but her face had softened and she nodded all the same.

Before Harry could say anything else he was wrapped in another unexpected embrace from the opposite side as Neville Longbottom very nearly took out half the empty table dressings in his effort to bombard Harry with his own worried babbling.

“Harry! Oh Merlin, when you didn’t come back, we were all so worried! Are you okay? Draco said you were okay, but he’s always so _vague_ in his letters. I tried to write, but my owls kept coming back undelivered, and kinda irritated if I’m being honest, apparently they don’t like not being able to find people.” Neville rubbed absently at what looked to be a peck mark on one of his fingers after thankfully releasing Harry from his surprise hug.

“Huh, sorry, Neville, it was probably all the wards. I’ve been pretty isolated all summer, because...” he trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging. But judging by the stoney, determined expression that came over the other boy’s face, it didn’t need any further extrapolation.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I’m just glad you’re safe. Draco said you were, but it’s different to see it for myself.”

“Oh? My word not good enough, Longbottom?” Draco sniffed, he had moved to stand behind Harry and had his arms folded across his narrow chest, his pointed, aristocratic nose in the air.

“No! I mean, _yes_!” Neville flushed, abandoning Harry to wrap his muscled arms around the slighter blond, “I mean... I missed you, dove.” This last part was murmured so earnestly that it was no wonder that Draco immediately dropped from his stiff, defensive pose.

“Yes, well, obviously,” the boy sniffed again, in a transparent attempt at pretense even as his ears turned bright red at the endearment.

Neville smiled and looked at Draco with such a soppy expression that Harry cut his eyes away at once, lest he expire from _secondhand_ embarrassment. It seemed to be a running risk. He just prayed to Merlin that he never looked at Blaise like that, surely he was not _that_ obvious in his affection. Thankfully, for Harry’s sanity at least, Neville had to retreat to the Gryffindor table not long after that as the Sorting was about to begin.

A hush fell over the gathered students as Professor McGonagall entered, leading a pack of nervous-faced first years up to the teacher's dais. They all looked so small, so fragile to Harry's eye. What would happen to them in the coming days? War was indiscriminate in who it damaged. These bright sparks were supposed to be taking their first real steps into the world, it should not be so overshadowed by looming fear.

But then again, Harry looked around the Hall at his fellow students and noticed that not very many of them at all seemed the least bit apprehensive. In fact, many were smiling and holding whispered conversations with friends as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all at the end of last term. They all seemed far too carefree for the gravitas of the reality outside (and within) the walls of Hogwarts.

Breaking through his confused thoughts, the Sorting Hat began its traditional song and Harry turned his attention back to the front.

It started out in its usual manner of explaining the base aspects of each house, but as the song went on it became apparent that the Hat was using its time to send a message to them all, a warning. It at least could sense the danger looming on the horizon and wished for them to be prepared to stand together, to not splinter within Hogwarts and make it that much easier to to be overcome by malevolent forces.

“Do you think it does that often?” Harry mused aloud.

“Have an existential crisis about its very cause for being and suggest we do away with Sorting altogether?” Blaise shrugged. “Or give dire warnings to a sea of apathetic teenagers that are too stupid to realise what it is they are being told?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“If I were a hat that only got to talk to people once a year, and in rhyme at that, I would take the opportunity to say whatever the hell I wanted.”

“You would be a much lovelier hat,” Harry smirked, “far more fashionable.”

“Thank you, _caro_ ,” Blaise smirked back, feigning a preen, “I most certainly would.”

The Sorting was over soon enough with the Welcoming Feast following shortly on its heels. As they ate, Harry was once more struck by how unaffected most of the school seemed to be. There should be far more grim faces out among the crowds, or at least _some_ indication that they were not all just sheep, happily grazing on grass as wolves prowled around the edge of their flock.

“They don’t want to believe he’s back,” Millicent grunted, stabbing at a hunk of steak on her plate with rather a lot of force.

“I thought Dumbledore told them?” Harry replied, scooping copious amounts of rice into his own plate and then smothering it with fragrant curry, the house elves were getting better at it with every passing year. “I don’t exactly care for the man myself, but the others seem to have unending respect for him, why choose now to stop believing everything he says?”

“Because denial is a far sweeter drink than practicality.” Draco was cutting his own moderate serving of chicken breast into exactingly tiny bits with aristocratic vehemence, the fingers gripping his silverware were bone white with the strength at which he held them.

“It doesn’t help that you disappeared and were unavailable to corroborate,” Theo cut in, his voice lowered to match their own hushed conversation as he leaned in. “There was no real tangible evidence to back anything the Headmaster said.”

“What about Cedric and Fleur? They sure as hell didn't imagine Viktor getting Imperioed and attacking us in the maze!” Harry seethed, that familiar lick of anger running up his spine, it was always so close to the surface these days. “And Moody, what about Bartimaeus Crouch Junior? We had an escaped _Death Eater_ pretending to teach us all year.” He was not about to think about the fact that his father was also once a Death Eater, it was worlds different than what Crouch was.

“Rumor spread that it was the Durmstrang Headmaster wanting Krum to win so bad he cast the Unforgivable and fled afterwards when Krum got subdued.” Theo shrugged, “And we go through DADA teachers like candy, nobody was expecting Moody to stick around. Like Draco said, it’s easier to make excuses than to accept something you don’t want to be real.”

“And what do you believe?” Harry bit out, probably too harshly as the anger and indignation continued to burn within him.

“You know who my father is,” Theo gave him sober look, absent completely of the usual sardonic smile that graced his features, “I am not my father.”

“Nor I.” Draco agreed, sharing a sharp nod with the other boy.

It quenched some of the fury in him and Harry matched the gesture, “I’m glad.”

Glancing up the table, it occurred to him just how many of his classmates he would need to determine upon which side of things they would fall. It would perhaps be best not to demand the information as he had from Theo. As his father had told him, there was safety in subtlety. Harry just needed to have better control over his temper.

It was hard, realising now that many would rather choose to stick their heads in the sand rather than prepare themselves for an inevitable fallout. Not when his bones still ached with the shadow of remembered Cruciatus and his head rested heavy with the burdened knowledge of prophecy. They would be best served to observe and act accordingly rather than create enemies of their own Housemates.

At least until the lines were truly drawn in the sand, as seemed inevitable given the sheer number of Slytherins being influenced by parents that followed the Dark Lord. There would be a dichotomy within Slytherin House before too long and Harry was not relishing the return of his persistent paranoia. Though it would be more bearable now, knowing that he had people watching his back. And finding that he trusted them to do it.

Still, he spent much of the rest of the meal in quiet contemplation. The coming year would require a delicate touch and Harry was unsure if he was quite equipped for the intricacies, given his current disposition and apprehensions.

Something would need to be done about the student's unwillingness to face reality or they would be as so many lambs to the slaughter.

When dessert vanished, leaving behind sparkling dishware and swaths of over full and drowsy children, Dumbledore stood to give his yearly speech.

"I am pleased to see all of you returned safe to our illustrious halls of learning and wish to welcome our newest batch of students with the great hope that they bring with them bright sparks of light to these troubling times." There was a round of uncomfortable shifting amongst the students as they were reminded of the warning they had been given at the end of the previous year. The Headmaster went on to give the usual statements from Filch and to introduce two new Professors.

It was only then that Harry noticed the rather large gap left in the teacher's lineup that was normally occupied by Professor Hagrid. Harry must have been more distracted than he thought, as the giant man was pretty hard to miss. He must have been sent out on a mission by the Order, Harry hoped he was alright. Hagrid was somewhat rough around the edges and had a few quirks, but overall Harry had come to care about him and his compassion for all things, no matter how monstrous they may seem.

He wondered if this Grubbly-Plank woman would be sticking closer to the expected curriculum, or if she would do as Professor Hagrid did and just showed them what he liked. It was O.W.L. year, and as much as Harry had so many other things on his mind, he hoped they learned enough for him to do well on that exam.

" _Hem-hem_." A pointed cough interrupted Dumbledore, halting the man's speech.

Umbridge had stood up from her seat, though it was somewhat difficult to tell as she was not all that much taller than she had been while sitting.

A rustle of hushed whispers suffused the Great Hall, no one had ever interrupted Dumbledore during one of his speeches before, let alone a new teacher. It did not bode well.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for that lovely introduction," Umbridge spoke with the same breathy, girlish voice that Harry remembered from their brief meeting at the Ministry and it grated on his ears just the same.

Dumbledore, for his part, merely nodded and retook his seat as if the interruption had been expected and not exceedingly rude.

What followed was one of the most monotonous, bureaucratic, and horrifying speeches Harry had ever had the displeasure to hear.

_Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged._

_Prune practices that ought to be prohibited._

Toe the Ministry line, do not question authority or face the consequences. Change would come to Hogwarts in the form of tightened oversight by those that Harry suspected did not have the students best interests in heart so much as their own need to appear in control. The Minister must have been highly irritated with Dumbledore to send a lackey into the school in an attempt to bring it to heel.

Looking around the room, most of the students were glassy-eyed or not paying the least amount of attention to the droning Umbridge. With the exception of Hermione Granger and Neville over at the Gryffindor table, who both looked equally incensed by what they were hearing; along with a smattering of others amongst the crowd. All along the teacher's dais there were matching frowns and narrowed eyes, it was clear as day what the Professors thought about the intrusion into their midst by this garishly pink toad of a woman.

When Umbridge finished her simpering speech Harry clapped politely along with what few others noticed the end of it, but inside he was calculating. His father had been correct in warning them about Umbridge, he just hoped she did not cause as great a roadblock as they feared.

"This won't be good." Blaise murmured as he matched Harry's polite clapping.

"No, but we've faced worse." Harry countered, unsure if it was true but willing to offer it up for consideration.

Blaise knocked their feet together under the table. It helped.


	12. Chapter 12

The first proper night back in the Slytherin dorms was as tense as Harry feared it might be. With many an upper (and current and _lower_ in the case of the Carrow twins) year students giving him the side eye. And not only Harry; Draco, Blaise, Millicent, and Theo as well. Trying to gauge just how things stood between them all, just as Harry and his friends were doing in return. It was only made more tense by the speech his father gave to the House after the feast, altered somewhat from the usual one expressed to first years by him. This one laced with subtle warnings and tellingly absent of the man’s customary theatrics, deadly serious in its message even as it avoided the outright drawing of lines amongst the students under his purview. It would not do to alienate any that might still be swayed away from the path the Dark Lord offered, and Harry did not envy his father the task.

Harry had expected some sort of confrontation from Crabbe and Goyle when they were dismissed to the dorms, as both of their fathers had been at the graveyard that night. But either the two lumbering boys did not care to harass him, were rebelling against their parents (unlikely), or (the most likely scenario) they had simply forgotten that they should not be on good terms with Harry. As he did not usually interact with the pair, Harry was not about to try and start something himself, though he would be keeping an eye on them.

They had questioned Draco about his lack of invitations to the manor that summer, evidently unaware of the blond’s temporary change of residence. Draco had brushed the questions aside easily enough though, Crabbe and Goyle taking the excuses at face value as was their want. It probably helped that Draco had been ever so slowly extricating himself from the pair for the last few years, only really interacting at meals times that Harry noticed. And even then, it was to disparage their table etiquette in a long-suffering manner.

It was not so much that Harry wanted to think the worst of them, but Crabbe and Goyle had never been amongst the brightest of Harry’s yearmates and he got the feeling it would never occur to them to disobey their family. Not when they had been taught to think a certain way since birth. It was a miracle that _Draco_ had managed such and done so in a way that allowed him to slip away relatively unscathed. Even in the highly unlikely event Crabbe and Goyle were inclined to follow suit, Harry doubted they would be able to do nearly so well.

Perhaps it would be worth trying, at least. Harry had nothing against them, personally. At least, not yet.

That could very well change in the near future.

For now, he would attempt to not rock the boat or invite opportunity to the hulking pair to get any erroneous ideas in their heads to come after Harry.

At the very least he would be laying an alarm spell around his bed at night.

~~~~~~~>

At breakfast the schedules were passed out, Harry still has a block of time reserved outside of the normal hours for lessons with his father. Although, he suspected they may be branching away from Mind Magic and into more of the training or research that had been going on during the summer. It looked as if he would not have Defense until Wednesday, hopefully by which time Harry would be able to get a feel for the new professor from the other students. He did not relish the idea of going into that situation blind.

“Ooh, you have Divination today, Millie,” Justin Finch-Fletchley ginned, he had somehow managed to squirm his way into the narrow space between Millicent and Theo while Harry was studying his new schedule, a bright spot of yellow amongst a sea of green. “That should be hilariously morbid, the perfect start to any week!”

Millicent grunted in the affirmative as Harry marveled at the Hufflepuff’s apparent immunity to the usual violent reactions using that nickname with the girl incited.

“Oi, get back to your own table,” a sixth year a little ways up the table sneered, “your kind isn’t bloody welcome here.”

“What, Hufflepuffs?” Justin blinked guilelessly, though there was a steeliness behind the motion that the sixth year evidently did not pick up on as the boy’s face twisted up into an ugly snarl.

“No, _filthy mu--_ ”

“I would consider your next words carefully, Mr. Bletchley,” Severus cut in on his way back to the teacher’s table, his tone that dangerous low murmur that all students had learned to be exceedingly cautious of. “As I will have absolutely zero compunctions with discharging your place on the Slytherin Quidditch team so as to make certain there is ample time for you to serve the immense number of detentions you would no doubt find yourself in possession of should I be displeased by what I hear.”

Bletchley went an odd combination of flushed and pale, very nearly glaring up at the Potions Master before apparently finally gaining some sense and just shaking his head in a jerky sort of negative and refusing to say anything further.

Harry’s father watched the boy with a narrow unblinking gaze that had Bletchley slowly sinking down on the bench in an unconscious, evasive maneuver.

“You would do well to remember what I spoke of last night,” the man continued, still that dangerous silky timbre. “There will come a time where one must make a choice and live with the consequences thereof.”

“I’m not _afraid_ ,” Bletchley spat, gaining a burst of pride from somewhere that straightened his hunched shoulders and lifted his square jaw in obvious, petulant defiance.

“You should be.” Severus returned, his arms folded across his chest in that absolute pose he exhibited when deadly serious. The black of his eyes glinted in the morning light shining down from the enchanted ceiling as he stared Bletchley back into submission on the bench. “And you will be, before the end.”

When Bletchley was sufficiently subdued the Potions Master continued on his way, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Next to Harry, Millicent was glaring fiercely at Bletchley, a protective arm wrapped around Justin’s narrow shoulders as the Hufflepuff was tucked into a rather rough looking embrace at the girl’s side. Although, Justin did not seem to be much fussed by the treatment, plainly content to be manhandled by his girlfriend as he stole a strip of bacon from Millicent’s plate. A move daring enough to almost border on Gryffindorish; proving once more his immunity to the expectant retribution as Millicent merely gave him a slice of buttered toast as well whilst never shifting her stony glare from the sixth year.

“That’s going to make practice awkward,” Draco quipped, though Harry could tell his heart wasn’t really in it.

Bletchley left not long after, pale and scowling.

Lines in the sand.

~~~~~~~>

Harry did not have much time to dwell on that morning’s events once classed started, as it became almost immediately apparent that fifth year was to be their most academically challenging thus far. Which Harry really should have anticipated, though O.W.L.s had somewhat slipped his mind with all the other chaos in his life at the moment.

It all came rushing back as Professor McGonagall lectured them severely on it for the first hour of their double Transfiguration before assigning them some of the most difficult work he had yet to come across in the subject, followed by a marked increase in the amount of homework they usually were given. Harry despaired a bit thinking just how horribly he was going to do in Charms if Flitwick followed the same pattern. He had a feeling they would be spending a lot more time in the library that year than in previous terms, which was saying something as Harry was already in the habit of spending a good deal of his free hours in the place.

After Transfiguration, they had a double Potions, which was something of a relief. Although looking around the dungeon classroom at the many glum faces adorning most of the Gryffindors and even a couple of the Slytherins, he seemed to be in the minority there.

Severus began the class in much the same way McGonagall had: a stern lecture weighted with the heavy expectancy that they _all_ achieve an Acceptable at the very least or else face the Potions Master’s displeasure. Next year was the first of the truly advanced classes, the ones that were only taken if you earned Outstanding on your O.W.L. At least, that was the standard Harry’s father had set and Harry agreed with the scrutiny wholeheartedly. One should never try and mess around with high level potion making if they did not truly wish to work for it or prove capable of the task.

That day they were assigned to make a Draught of Peace, a somewhat finicky potion that Harry dived into brewing with earnest enthusiasm. And it was with a sliver of prideful satisfaction that he watched silver vapor rise up from his cauldron an hour and a half later. A quick glance around the room showed that his was one of a very few that carried the correct sheen, many of the surrounding cauldrons giving off something closer to gray (or in the case of Crabbe and Goyle both, darkest black). Hermione’s was silver, as expected, along with Blaise and Draco’s, but Neville’s was on the duller end of the spectrum (also expected). As much as the Gryffindor had improved over the years, Harry was certain the boy would be more relieved than not to be able to drop the class at last. At the very least, Neville’s cauldron was not throwing off green sparks like Ron Weasley’s.

When Harry brought his bottled sample to the front, his father gave it a look over and Harry an approving tilt of the head which had that sliver of prideful satisfaction expanding onto a warm glow throughout his entire chest. He should be used to approval from the man by that point, after years. But still, Harry found himself craving that attention and basking in it. If only in the quiet of his own mind. It was more than a little embarrassing to still feel so affected by simple praise.

To Blaise's dissatisfaction, they had Herbology after lunch and Harry was forced into the realisation that he found the way the other boy scrunched up his nose in faint disgust at the all the dirt and plant life unutterable adorable. It was a bit blindsiding, as Harry had seen that same look on Blaise's face for years and yet he had the slightly horrifying suspicion that there were quite possibly hearts in his eyes. How had he gone so long not noticing such things? He really had been so oblivious.

In an effort to distract himself from Blaise's unfairly distracting presence, Harry began to confer with Sue Li and Padma Patil about starting up the study group early this year, given their influx of schoolwork already.

The Ravenclaws had matching determined glints to their eye as Harry spoke about the O.W.L.s and he got the distinct impression that pressure would be had from all sides that year.

By the time dinner rolled around, there was a noticeable disquiet moving through the students that had little to do with usual first day jitters and everything to do with their new Defense Professor.

"She gave me detention," Neville huffed, he had squeezed his broadened shoulders into the space between Harry and Draco at the Slytherin table. It seemed a definite move, a statement after what had happened with Justin at breakfast, but Harry suspected Neville simply wished to eat a meal with Draco. Unawares if the image he made as a slash of red surrounded by green.

Gryffindors.

"In your first session? How did you possibly manage that? Have you ever even had detention in your life?" Draco blinked, pausing in the careful spooning of his pumpkin soup.

Neville flushed, but there was a stubbornness to the tilt of his jawline that belied his mulishness about the situation.

“She’s actively trying to undermine any dissent from the Ministry line. Denying that _he’s_ back and refusing to even attempt to teach us anything that might be useful.”

“Let me guess,” Draco sighed, “you attempted to argue with Umbridge and she did not appreciate being told she was wrong on multiple levels?”

“She _is_ wrong,” Neville insisted, puffing up a bit in indignation only to immediately deflate when Draco laid a few delicate fingertips against his reddened cheek.

“I know that and _you_ know that, in all likelihood _she_ knows that. But knowing such and admitting to it are two entirely different bags of kneazles. Dolores Umbridge has never once cared for more in life than what could serve her best to gain power over others, no matter how petty or incidental. My father has dealt with her for years, she is a simpering despot that will stoop down to the foulest of levels without flinching to get what she wants and I will not have you making things so easy for her with your foolish chivalry.”

“ _Dove..._ ”

“No. I won’t have it. You are to behave yourself, Neville Longbottom,” Draco sniffed primary, tapping the other boy’s cheek for emphasis, “this is not a fight that one can have head on. Subterfuge and patience are what is needed here.”

“I’m no good at subterfuge,” the Gryffindor grumbled, slumping down in defeat.

“Oh I know,” Draco agreed with a smirk, “that’s why you have me. Now eat up, we have to be up late to patrol the corridors, as I’m sure Granger has already informed you.”

“Oh, yeah, about five times since lunch. I’ve detention right after dinner, then I’ll meet you guys, yeah?”

It was then that Harry noticed another thing that had completely escaped his focus the entire day, pinned to both Draco and Neville’s robes were shiny Prefect badges. He had forgotten all about the things being handed out in fifth year. Although truth be told, he was relieved not to have another thing to worry about on top of everything. Draco could have that responsibility gladly. A curious glance up the table showed a matching badge on Pansy Parkinson. When she noticed Harry looking, her neutral features twisted into a haughty sneer that had Harry quickly averting his gaze once more. They had never been the closest of yearmates, but ever since the Yule Ball last year, Parkinson had turned to active asperity when given the chance.

Harry had mostly ignored it last term, but given the current climate, it would probably be wise to keep a closer eye on the girl. If only for prudence sake.

He worried more for Millicent, who had to share a dorm with Parkinson. Harry was unsure of the other girls thoughts about recent events either, having not interacted with Tracy Davis or Daphne Greengrass much outside of a classroom setting. It left him uneasy that he had such a blind spot so close to one of his dearest friends. Not that Millicent wasn’t completely capable of defending herself, but still, three to one odds were not ideal.

The schism within Slytherin House would bring forth many unknown variables. The thought churned his insides in a queasy roil that was becoming all too familiar.


	13. Chapter 13

The Defense classroom was more barren than Harry could remember ever seeing it. There were no intricate Dark Detectors or disconcerting charts plastered along the walls as the ersatz Moody had put up. Nor the informative creature diagrams and books that Remus had favored. Harry found himself quite relieved that Umbridge had not taken after Lockhart, he had _no_ desire to see the squarish, squat features of the woman staring down at him from all angles. 

Even _Quirrell_ had put up drapes.

No, this room was as spartan and utilitarian as it was possible to be. Open as the lack of decor should have made the space, it instead instilled a sense of claustrophobia and oppression in Harry as he followed Millicent into the very back row of seats. He could see Umbridge sitting at the desk at the head of the classroom, giving off an air of smug pontification. The little black bow was still nestled in her curled hair like a bloated fly.

“Must she assault us with horrendous fashion choices in addition to everything else?” Blaise murmured in faint disgust, leaning down into Harry space to speak quietly in his ear. Harry very carefully did not blush at the proximity. Much.

He snorted, taking in the fuzzy pink cardigan that was most likely the source of the other boy’s chagrin; it really was terrible.

Once they had all shuffled in and taken seats Professor Umbridge stood from her own (though it hardly made a difference in her height) and circled the desk to face them with a closed-mouth smile that stretched her wide features to an almost grotesque degree. It reminded Harry somewhat of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office, if he were of a mind to insult the statue.

“Good afternoon, children.” She addressed them.

The Slytherins all remained quiet, watching.

“Tut tut, that will not do at all,” Umbridge chided in that saccharine, girlish voice of hers. “When I say _good afternoon_ I expect to hear _good afternoon, Professor Umbridge._ Now let’s try that again, shall we? Good afternoon, children.”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they replied, if only in the hope to avoid a further lecture on proper forms of address. At least, that was Harry’s reasoning for complying, even if the words felt a bit like sandpaper scraping against his throat as they came out.

“Better, much better. There, you see? Now, it has become my understanding that your education in Defense had been _lacking_ of late. Given the severe dearth of oversight it is no wonder that you have been exposed to such subpar and in certain cases outright dangerous... _individuals_ in this position.” Harry got the distinct impression that Umbridge was not speaking of Crouch Junior masquerading as Alastor Moody, the derision dripping from the words far too pointed given what Harry knew of her disdain for anything non-human. She would know about Remus, his condition. It was also in a large part her doing that it was so difficult for werewolves to find any sort of employment in the current ignorant climate.

“The Minister, _hem-hem_ , excuse me,” she simpered, splaying a stubby-fingered hand across the fuzzy pink cardigan with feigned gaffe, “the _Ministry_ , has seen fit to assign me this post in an effort to guide your young minds back onto the proper, approved path. So that you may better learn and grow to become assets to society.”

_Sweet Merlin_ , Harry groaned internally, _this was going to be a long year._

“So,” she clapped loudly, once, “wands away and books out, please.”

There was a small rustle as the few that had foolishly still expected more from the first lesson even after hearing how the other Houses had gone did so. Harry had not bothered.

“Now, I do hope that you Slytherins are more cooperative than the other children have thus far been. I would expect nothing less from my own House,” Umbridge emphasised the statement with a girlish giggle that did more to unnerve Harry than anything.

"Neville managed to get his detention extended," Draco grumbled out of the corner of his mouth, "he was late to patrolling last night."

Harry huffed out a disgruntled breath of air as he turned to the first chapter of _Defensive Magical Theory_. It was dense and dry for all that it said nothing of substance. Umbridge had retreated to her desk, the blackboard behind her chalked with the class goals framing her in a domineeringly bureaucratic portent of what the term would hold.

_A return to basic principles._

_1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magics._

_2\. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used._

_3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

It was no wonder that Neville had raised such a fuss if the Gryffindors were met with this same message. It was clear that this woman had no intention of teaching them anything of use that year, and in fact, may be actively attempting to regress them backwards.

“I thought he’d agreed to keep quiet?”

“ _Tch_ ,” Draco sniffed, his thin shoulders a tense line as he glared down at his own book, “evidently not quiet enough.”

“There will be no need for talking, class,” Umbridge trilled out from the front.

Harry felt his hand tighten harshly over the sharp edges of _Defensive Magical Theory_ , no doubt leaving imprints into his palms.

So they read, silently and without enthusiasm.

Harry finishes well before the end of class and spends much of the remaining time attempting to get a read on the woman sitting so smugly at the desk before them all. Dolores Umbridge was eyeing them all with a sharp shrewdness to her gaze, an aura of anticipation coloring the line of her stout shoulders; as if she expected resistance to her orders to sit and read and dearly wished to punish those who dared disobey. Harry did not miss the fact that her watchful eyes passed over him far more than any other student in the room. He made sure to keep his book out and open, feigning studiousness and refusing to be baited into a pointless argument.

The class would be a joke, there was no getting around that. It was written right there in curly chalk upon the board and reinforced by the absolute drivel masquerading as a textbook. Harry would need to think of a better use for class time, perhaps he would instead spend the hour working on his Occlumency or furthering his efforts from over the summer to isolate and attempt to disentangle the parasitic scrap of soul tainting his insides.

When they were finally dismissed, Harry attempted to shuffle out behind the broader form of Millicent, but another of those grating _hem-hem_ ’s stopped him mid-step.

“A moment, Mr. Potter.”

Harry debated just continuing on, pretending as if he had not heard. But that would be borrowing trouble he did not need. So he schooled his features into the familiar blank mask and turned.

“As I mentioned at our last meeting, Professor,” Harry very carefully said instead of spitting, “my surname is _Snape_ and I would appreciate it if you would remember such.”

“Watch your cheek, boy,” Umbridge simpered, the threat clear in her voice, “it is not polite to correct your betters.”

Harry said nothing, choosing to wait the woman out rather than take the obvious bait. Blaise was pressed close at his back, his own tall posture a disinterested affectation as he studied his manicured nails whilst also providing a tangible bulwark against Harry’s rising temper. Millicent, sturdy at his other shoulder looked equal parts unamused and marginally irate, though that was her normal face so Harry felt she was safe enough from Umbridge’s disregard even if the woman were inclined to focus on anyone that was not Harry at that moment.

“I simply wish to make certain that you are not planning to spread any further nasty rumors throughout the school as you did at the end of the previous year. Such prevarication will only lead to discord and panic among the impressionable minds of the other children, and we can’t have that now, can we?” Her eyes bulged slightly as she watched Harry, further underlining her resemblance to a toad.

“I have told no lies, Professor,” Harry answered calmly, “in fact, I spent a sizable portion of the last term away from the castle and out of contact for my own health, as anybody you ask will confirm.”

“The Headmaster claims otherwise.” Umbridge insisted, her wide mouth stretching further as if anticipating the capture of a large and juicy fly. “I do not tolerate liars, child.”

“The Headmaster claims a great many things,” Harry let a bit of grouse bleed into his voice, “I have learned to take such with a grain of salt. If you’ll excuse us now, I don’t want to be late to my next class.”

Her bulbous eyes narrowed but she motioned them away with a stubby hand. Harry wasted no time in making good the dismissal, feeling those eyes pinned on him the entire length of the corridor before they were finally able to turn out of sight. It left him feeling itchy and unclean.

“What a _puttana_ ,” Blaise scoffed as they made their way through the castle towards Ancient Runes. “Did she really think you were going to pick a fight or start shouting out about the Dark Lord and the Ministry’s incompetence?”

“I don’t know,” Harry rolled his eyes. “At least she isn’t subtle about how awful she is or how horrendously she means to mangle our education.”

Millicent snorted, “Small favors.”

Ancient Runes was just as demanding as the majority of their other classes, as this year would determine who was worthy enough to be placed in the advanced study courses for sixth and seventh year. The ones where they would actually begin to delve into the practical applications of Runework and warding. As much as Harry desired to prove himself, he could not concentrate for much of the session. Mind too busy skipping in and around the obstacle their new Defense Professor presented.

It was with this same distracted mind that Harry trudged along beside his friends to the library after classes for the first meeting of their study group. If Blaise had not been guiding him by his hand in Harry’s own, he may very well have continued on past the library completely.

Sue Li and Padma Patil were already ensconced at their usual table, along with Justin who jumped up at the sight of Millicent much the same way Harry imagined an excitable puppy might at the sight of their owner.

“Hey, Millie, how was Umbridge? Bloody terrible right? I almost fell dead asleep trying to read that book.”

Millicent grunted in agreement, accepting the kiss the Hufflepuff pressed against her cheek with all the grave seriousness of her usual demeanour; although Harry noticed she did not let Justin retreat too far once they had all settled at the table as well.

“It’s unacceptable,” Sue Li complained quietly, so as not to draw the ire of Pince. “How are we expected to learn anything from _this_.”

The girl dangled her copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ as if it were a slug, never the reaction one wanted from a Ravenclaw about a book.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco chimed in as he and Neville arrived together, the latter claiming the open seat next to Harry. “We aren't.”

Padma Patil and Sue Li pulled equally furious faces, flared nostrils and blazing eyes all around.

“What are we supposed to do about that?” Padma hissed, shaking her head like an agitated exotic bird given the amount of jewelry and colorful makeup the girl sported. “I can’t afford to lose an entire year of Defense to _willful incompetence_ , especially not O.W.L. year.”

“There are things more important than _O.W.L._ s out there now,” Neville broke in quietly, a matching fire in his normally genial eyes.

His words were met by a pair of blank faces that turned to blinking and grimaces as the Ravenclaws sighed and cut looks over to Harry.

“Is it true then? Really? What Dumbledore said?” Sue asked, setting her book down on the table with far more respect than it deserved, Ravenclaw habit he supposed idly.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, found he could not voice the words, closed it and simply nodded. It showed how much they had all grown from suspicious second years that the two did not immediately attempt to refute the claim or simply leave the table (and Harry) altogether.

Sue Li went pale while Padma covered her mouth with a hand, as if to hold in a gasp that wished to break free.

They all sat in heavy silence that was only broken by the arrival of Susan Bones, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Theo Nott, who all managed to just barely squeeze into the remaining space at the table. It had not seemed so crowded in past years, then again, most people grew more than Harry did.

“Well aren’t you a happy lot,” Theo drawled from his place between Susan and Ron.

Harry snorted, it was not an amused sound but neither was it derisive, “We just have so much to be pleased about.” He snarked back, sardonically. It was enough to clear the air somewhat to breathe at least, even if the only laughs it brought were equally dry.

"How was detention, Neville?" He continued, eyeing the boy next to him, "I thought you agreed subtly was key?"

"She said the message hadn't quite sunk in." Harry narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor and Neville shrugged and ducked his head, continuing, "I may have spoken less than respectfully at the end of it."

Draco sniffed from his spot pressed close to Neville's other side and the blush spread down to the back of his neck but his face showed no remorse, though he did not meet any of their eyes directly.

"You need to be careful," Harry warned.

"I know, it's just a week's worth. I'll be fine."

"You'll be _better_ so that this does not happen again." Draco corrected.

"Of course, dove."

Draco sniffed again and busied himself pulling out studying supplies from his bag.

“The rate that class is going, you might just have company, Nev. I don’t think I can stomach any more of that trite she’s trying to sell.” Ron broke in with grin even as Hermione elbowed the boy in the ribs. “ _Boody hell_ , ‘Mione,” the Gryffindor winced, rubbing at his side, “I was only joking.”

“This is no time to be facetious, Ronald,” she countered with a glare, her voluminous bushy hair seeming to swell in menacing emphasis, “did you actually read any of that book?”

“Well, no,” Ron admitted glibly, rocking back in his chair (a strategic move to avoid further flying elbows), “I figured it was rubbish and judging from all your faces now, I was right.”

“Of course it was _rubbish_ ,” Hermione nearly seethed, jabbing an authoritative finger at the redhead, “that’s the entire point. That woman is trying to subvert all of our educations, to keep us dull-witted and complacent while she spreads the Ministry line and makes everything that much more difficult to oppose or protect ourselves from the dangers outside this castle.”

Ron’s chair made a dull thunk as it fell forward once more, the boy in it looking sheepish and no longer grinning.

“Oh well done, Granger,” Draco nodded, eyeing the girl with a smirk that was not mean but more akin to praising, “at least _some_ of your House are paying attention.”

“Oi,” Ron protested weakly but didn’t really refute the claim.

“It was all in that speech she gave,” Hermione mumbled, her cheeks tinged a bit pink as she realised the entire table was staring at her. “The book just reaffirms it.”

“Indeed it was,” Susan Bones agreed, her own eyes narrowed and her usual sweet expression stony and serious; her blonde hair not even up in its customary pigtails. “I believe what the Headmaster told us last term, I believe you, Harry.” She spared him a nod that Harry returned more on instinct than anything.

“There are too many odd things happening, Aunty Amelia won’t tell me much but she has a good sense for when things are amiss.”

“Can’t she do anything about it?” Padma asked, worrying a length of hair around her fingers in an unconscious gesture.

“Not without risking her position,” Susan grimaced, “it’s too early to be drawing lines within the Ministry.”

“Smart,” Theo agreed, “we’ll need all the eyes we can get if things keep going the way they are.”

_As if they would have any power over the situation at all_ , Harry mused darkly to himself.

None of them had any amount of control over what dangers were coming. Only trickles of information that would do more to fray at their nerves than soothe any worries. The longer the Dark Lord lurked behind rumors and denials the more time he had to gather forces around himself, to plot and scheme. And here the Ministry was doing its utmost close fist around _them_ in an attempt to control anything of value, to play at shepherding whilst in reality leading them all into the wolf’s jaws.

Harry, for one, had had quite enough of people attempting to run his life for him.

“We need to do something,” he spoke quietly into the silence that had overtaken the group, “we can’t just let this happen.”

“What can we do?” Sue Li asked in an equally hushed voice.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, “but we can’t just do nothing.”

They all nodded, every face running the spectrum of grim determination.

On that, at least, they were all agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long delay in this posting, guys. Life has just been getting in the way a bit and I just could not find a decent time to write. But I sincerely hope not to have such a lengthy gap before the next chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

Discussion about what to do with their sham of a Defence class got a bit pushed to the wayside as the week progressed. The other fifth year courses were showing their teeth early and Harry found himself with very little free time to contemplate much else aside from their increased scholastic expectations.

Paired with a persistent ache that had started up in his head (worryingly centered on his scar), Harry was more than a little relieved to see the weekend. He had spoken to his father about the pain during their allotted time. He had not wanted to mention it at first, thinking it was probably just stress, or too much concentrated Occlumency wearing out his tired brain. But easing up on the Mind Magic had only made the headache worse, heavier and more foreboding. It was not a natural thing.

Which in turn left very few options to its origin and Harry knew just where he would place his galleons to that.

“What I want to know, really,” he told his father as he absently rubbed at his forehead, it did not hurt right then but there was a sort of echo of pain that Harry wasn’t quite sure was of his own doing or not, “is if its targeted, or if the Dark Lord even knows about this connection.”

Harry was utterly certain which option he preferred.

Severus was quiet for a moment. They were seated in the man’s quarters, a fire warming the chill dungeon rooms, Jax had quickly laid claim to the hearthstones.

“I wish that I were able to give you a definite answer,” his father murmured, face a darker version of its already serious mien, “either scenario seems equally plausible. I do not have available to me so reticulated a reach towards the opposition as I did in the first war. My insight is fettered by my choices and we must rely on the secondhand from those that have not made quite so bold a statement as I have.”

Harry twisted his fingers around the edges of his robe sleeves, worrying the fabric and no doubt laying the groundwork for an exasperated scolding from Blaise when the other boy caught sight of the abused cloth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not be.” His father commanded, the words not sharp as Harry might have expected, but soft and low. He reached across the space between them and covered Harry’s restless hands with his own, halting their fidgeting. The Potions Master’s grip was cold but firm and Harry did not find it so difficult to meet his gaze as the roiling guilt in his stomach might have suggested. “Harry, I would not take back a single action that brought you out of danger. My choices are my own and you will _always_ be at the forefront of them. I may no longer hold the Dark Lord’s ear, but I still have my ways of gleaning information.”

“I--” Harry hesitated, he did not wish to sound so juvenile, but the words crawled around his throat like ants and he continued, “it feels selfish... stupid and shortsighted, but I’m really glad that you can’t spy. I-- I don’t want you to get hurt or worse...”

_Or die._

Harry did not know what he would do if Severus died.

He pushed any possibility of it down as far as it could go, locking the thought away in the darkest depths of his mind’s library.

The hands around his own pressed tighter.

“If there is a single person in this castle allowed to be selfish at the moment it would be you, my son.” Severus then used the advantage of his anchor on Harry to pull him into a firm embrace that as brief as it was, did more to soothe his frazzled nerves than any amount of Calming Draught would have.

“What do you think is more likely?” Harry asked once they had both regained their positions, though Harry had also somehow found himself with a steaming cup of tea in hand.

“As I said, it could very well be either case. The Dark Lord is not so careful at guarding his emotions against backlashing others as one might assume, or perhaps it is that the thought of such sufferings amuses him,” Severus tapped pointedly at his own left arm, where Harry knew the man’s Dark Mark lay under the layers of cloth. He had witnessed over the summer how raw and irritated the tattoo got at times, although his father never let on that it bothered him; not in front of Harry at least. Perhaps Remus, or Regulus even (who had his own Mark to deal with), were able to provide some solace.

“It might also be that he is aware of this connection and is testing the boundaries of it. Are you being vigilant in your Occlumency before resting each night?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry did not like the idea of Voldemort attempting to bridge the gap between them and was exacting in his mental practices.

“And you will inform me if this current condition worsens or changes?”

Harry nodded, sipping his tea. It was well past the time to keep such things close to his chest, he had learned to trust his father in these matters.

 

~~~~~~~>  
With the weekend came some respite from the influx of work and Harry spent much of Saturday in a studious haze. He had planned to do similar on Sunday but had been wrangled by Draco and Millicent to come watch the Slytherin team’s Quidditch practice. Blaise had joined him, sitting close enough to press quite snugly to Harry’s side on the bench, which Harry attempted to ignore how much he enjoyed lest he burst into a bashful heap of awkwardness at the other boy’s feet.

Thankfully, Neville was there as well, to negate some of the pressure. He had on his Gryffindor robes but had also donned a green and silver scarf. Well, Draco had draped it over the other boy's neck with an imperious smirk and Neville had neglected to remove it. 

They had also been joined at the last moment by Justin, the Hufflepuff skidding to a halt before a stoic Millicent, completely unconcerned by the dark looks some of the players cast his direction, too busy grinning up at Millicent. She rolled her eyes a bit and chucked the boy roughly on the shoulder but Harry could see the pleased slant to her frown when Justin took the opportunity to steal a kiss before the team took off into the early morning sky.

Much of the next couple hours were spent watching exactly how hard Millicent could send a bludger at Bletchley before the older boy complained. Which led to the team's captain shouting about dodging better in increasingly exasperated tones. Justin did a lot of snickering in between cheering for Millicent and chatting with them. 

Watching the Slytherins zip around the field, Harry felt vaguely envious. He knew he could have easily acquired a spot on the team that year, but there was just too much else going on to really try and spare any of his time for _sport_. Perhaps he would bring his firebolt out when he had a free moment and release some of the tension he’d built up.

The was a resounding _thump!_ and shriek that cut through the morning air as a bludger impacted squarely with Montague, nearly sending the older boy off his broom completely. He had been one of the ones side-eyeing Justin when the Hufflepuff arrived.

“Bleeding watch it, Bulstrode!” The words were a bit wheezy but carried well enough.

“Isn’t that _your_ job, Montague? Try evading like an actual Chaser.” Millicent barked back, twirling her Beater’s bat unconcernedly.

Beside them, Justin let out another amused snicker.

When the team finally called it quits not long after that, the Hufflepuff merrily skipped down to meet up with Millicent and the pair wandered up towards the castle with parting nods at Harry and the rest. There was a noticeable lack of stink-eye from those nursing far more bruises than they had likely anticipated receiving that morning, though Harry would not put it past them to be plotting revenge. He would be keeping his eye out in any case.

Draco broke off easily from the pack of grumbling Slytherins to join them, he did not look nearly so carefree as was usual after messing about on brooms, his pale face pinched and drawn as he ran fingers fastidiously through his windswept hair.

“Alright, Draco?” Blaise asked once the blond had reached them.

“Fine, perfect, everything is just _such a delight_...”

“It did look so from where we were seated, darling,” Blaise replied dryly as Neville made a concerned sound and gathered Draco closer with an arm around his thinner shoulders.

“Is it too much to ask to just have _one_ thing untainted by this... this _nonsense_?”

Harry sighed, stepping forward enough to awkwardly pat the other boy on the arm.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.

“It was naive,” Draco sniffed as he hunched down further into the arm around his shoulders, “to think we could all just go about anything as if nothing was happening out there.” He cut sharp gray eyes across the grounds towards the gates that guarded them from the outside, whether effectively or not Harry was undecided.

“It’ll be alright,” Neville murmured, a certainty that Harry envied underlying his words firmly.

Jax poked his head out of Harry collar to bump against Draco’s cheek in commiseration, which at least smoothed out a couple of frown lines as the boy gave the snake a good scritch under the chin.

Harry watched as the other Slytherins wandered off towards the changing room, murmuring lowly to one another, though they were too far for Harry to make out any of it. It could just as easily be grumblings about practice as anything more sinister.

An inquisitive hiss from Jax brought Harry’s focus back to his friends. The serpent had pulled away from Draco’s fingers and was flicking his forked tongue at where Neville’s hand was cupping the blond’s shoulder, his purple eyes oddly intense.

“ _Something smells off, wrong._ ” Jax hissed, stretching forward further out from the protection of Harry’s clothes and Draco’s touch. His tongue flicked out again as Harry noticed the bandage wrapped around Neville’s hand.

“ _What is it?_ ” he asked the serpent, before looking up at a bemused Neville, “What happened to your hand?”

“It’s nothing,” the boy gruffed, shifting said hand away from its perch and pocketing it with a shrug, “it’s fine.”

“ _It’s Dark,_ ” Jax countered, abandoning his position completely to branch over Draco’s shoulder in an effort to follow Neville’s retreating appendage.

“What?” Harry felt a frisson of cold shoot down his spine. “What do you mean Dark? Neville, show me your hand.”

Instead of complying, the Gryffindor took a hasty two-step backwards and shook his head.

“It’s nothing to fuss over.”

Draco, who had taken a sharp breath at Harry’s words, shot a hand out and grabbed the retreating boy by the arm in what looked to be a vice-like grip; forcing the bandaged hand back into view despite its owner’s protests.

“You told me this was a Herbology accident,” Draco narrowed his gray eyes dangerously. “That you fumbled some sheers.”

“ _Dove..._ ” Neville sighed, hunching his shoulders, “I didn’t want you to worry, it’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

“Do not ‘ _dove_ ’ me, Neville Longbottom. _What_ exactly will be fine?” Draco’s fingers were white where they gripped the other boy’s wrist and Jax had maneuvered himself to get another good scent that had him shaking his head rapidly in the familiar motion of warding off a sneeze.

“ _Fuck, that’s rank._

“It’s nothing, really guys.” This was met with a round of unimpressed stares, Blaise even had his arms crossed over his chest, Neville slumped further. “Okay, okay, but not out here. Just, let’s go find an empty classroom or something.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

Draco led the way at a quick march, fairly dragging the larger boy behind him as they made their way up to the castle. They ended up in one of the disused loos in the dungeons. The same one, Harry realised, that he had utilised in those early potion tutorings he had given Neville way back in first year. Before they had truly been friends. Though looking back perhaps the Gryffindor had counted them as such already. So open with his affections whereas Harry was so closed off.

“Explain.” Draco still had Neville by the wrist and pulled it up so that they could all clearly see the carefully tied white wrapping covering the boy’s broad palm.

“You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is, really,” Neville grumbled, the evasion weak under the furious stare of his boyfriend.

He sighed again and brought his other hand up to somewhat clumsily untie the knot and unwind the cloth. Harry noted the spots of red that started to appear after a few passes as the cold dread that had been crawling up his spine turned molten.

“It’s nothing, really.”

The back of Neville’s hand was badly scratched, the wounds still sluggishly seeping, a line of red slowly beading up and threatening to drip onto the tiled floor of the loo.

“Why isn’t this healed? Why didn’t you go to Madam Pomfrey?”

Neville mumbled something too low for Harry to hear, his head ducked down, not meeting Draco’s eyes. 

“Is this-- are these _words_?”

Harry blinked, stepping up to the blond’s shoulder to get a better look at Neville’s bleeding hand. Through the swelling of red, what Harry had taken for scratches were indeed words. Scored into his skin as if by a quill.

 _I must not tell lies_.

“Neville...” Harry started, only to be interrupted by a snarling Draco.

“This is _your_ handwriting. _How_ is this your handwriting?”

Neville hissed, a pained sound as he attempted to twist away from Draco’s bone-white grip. A drip-drip of blood finally making its way to the floor in an almost inaudible pitter-patter.

“It was a quill, she had me write lines. I’m fine, dove, it doesn’t even hurt much. More annoying that it won’t quite bleeding than anything.”

“ _She?_ This was that toad’s doing? Merlin’s saggy, wrinkled _nethers_ , you great lummox! Why didn’t you say anything?” Draco had gone deathly pale except for his cheeks and the tip of his pointed nose which were both flushed an angry pink.

“Because it’s not a big deal, Draco!” Neville shouted, wrenching his wrist free at last and backing away. Harry gave an involuntary flinch at the sudden outburst, Neville never raised his voice in anger; even Jax reared back on Draco’s shoulder in surprise. “I’m not, I’m not _weak_. I can handle a few scratches.”

“Scratches? _Scratches?_ ” Draco had gone as quiet as Neville had loud, the hiss of his voice like black ice, “This is more than scratches. This is assault. Inflicting magical wounds that refuse to cease bleeding is not an acceptable form of detention.”

“It’ll stop eventually, it always does. And I’m through anyway, I don’t have any more detentions.”

“Do you even hear yourself? This should not have happened, this should not have gone past the first stroke of the first fucking letter.”

“I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of thinking she got to me.” Neville glared, clutching at his own wrist now as he glared back at Draco. “I’m not a useless lump anymore, I can handle myself.”

“Obviously not, if this is how you go about it!”

Neville opened his mouth to protest but Harry found himself speaking up, cutting across the crackling air that suffused the room.

“It’s not right,” He said quietly, then paused to clear his throat as the pair turned equally startled eyes on him, evidently having forgotten they were not alone in the room. “It’s not right, Neville, what she did. You can’t let Umbridge get away with this.”

“Harry...” his voice had gone soft, pained.

“No. You aren’t weak for asking for help. It doesn't make you lesser, it doesn’t let her win.” There was a prickling sensation crawling along his scalp as he spoke, a phantom echo of burnt garlic searing his lungs as he forced more words out. “I won’t let this happen, not again.”

“Are you talking about Moody?” Neville asked, he had slumped back down at Harry’s interruption, “Do you think Umbridge is a Death Eater?”

“No, not Moody, Crouch Junior, whatever. I’m not talking about last year, I’m talking about... about first year.”

Blaise was the one to make a noise then, a sharp gasp followed by a hesitant, “ _Caro_? Are you sure?”

Harry cut a look over his shoulder at him, his skin had gone ashy and his tall frame contracted somehow into something much smaller and more vulnerable looking. It hurt Harry’s heart to see and he stepped back close enough to clasp one of his hands between his own shaking ones.

“I trust them, I know you do as well.” He murmured, stroking a thumb over the racing pulse point on Blaise’s elegant wrist. “I think, I think it will bring some perspective.”

“If you’re sure, love,” Blasie pressed a dry kiss to his temple. “It may very well be the only thing to break through that Gryffindor pride.”

“What, may I ask, happened in first year?” Draco looked more confused than anything. “Other than that troll incident and our useless Defense professor buggering off midway through second term?”

“That’s just it,” Harry said, turning back around to face them, though he kept ahold of Blaise’s hand, “he didn’t bugger off.”

“What then?” Neville asked amidst another backdrop of quietly dripping red.

“I... I killed him.”

“Come again?” Draco blinked.

“I killed him. Burned his face so severely with my bare hands that it turned black and caved in. I can still smell the stench of it some nights. If I allowed myself to dream, I suspect I’d get only nightmares in return. I’ve had quite enough of nightmares.”

Blaise pulled Harry back against his chest, a desperately needed solidity.

“ _Fucking right, you killed him!_ ” Jax hissed triumphantly, startling Draco, “ _the prick deserved worse._ ”

“Wh-- um, w-why did you...?” Neville stuttered, something he had not done in a very long time.

“He had spent much of first year attempting to murder me. He tried to frame it as an accident, which I suppose bought me some time. I didn’t tell anybody because I didn’t know who it was for a long time. And even when I figured it out, I only let Severus know when I’d witnessed Quirrell do something heinously evil so that he could maybe do something about him.”

“What did you see?” Draco had gone wide-eyed and unblinking as Harry spoke.

“He murdered a unicorn out in the Forbidden Forest and was drinking its blood.”

“Of course he was,” Draco said faintly.

“Voldemort had possessed him, he was riding around on the back of Quirrell’s skull. Quirrell needed the blood to sustain him, although I didn’t know that part at the time.”

“Of course he was,” Draco repeated, even fainter, one pale hand reaching up to run distractedly through his hair, a dire sign of shock.

Harry clung to both his Occlumency shields and the arm Blaise had wrapped around his front as he forced more words out. He needed to finish this, he needed to make Neville understand.

“The day he disappeared Quirrell found us, Blaise and Millicent and me, down by the lake. He stunned us and brought us all into the forest. He was going to kill us, I guess he got tired of subtly.” Harry continued, describing the events in a dry tone as he locked down all the terror and anger the memories brought back. Millicent had really been so ferocious, and Blaise so willing to stand by his side.

Harry did not go into too much detail about what inside of him had been so anathema to the thing that had once been Quirrell. There were still certain doors that he wished to remain sealed against scrutiny. A mother’s love was somehow harder to stomach than recalling the pure malevolence of a possessed madman holding a knife to the throat of one of his only friends. They had been eleven, outbursts of emotional wild magic were not unheard of, especially in such dire circumstances.

 “What happened after... after?” Neville asked in a hushed whisper, he had crept closer as Harry spoke, now standing shoulder to shoulder with a mute and staring Draco.

“Jax went to find Dad, Severus,” he hadn’t been Harry’s father then, it was difficult to believe sometimes that they had not always been so. Which Harry supposed was something of a positive sign. “He found us in the woods and took care of the... the evidence. Made sure there was no way to trace anything back to me. Told us what to say should anybody ask why we were all scraped up or where Professor Quirrell had disappeared to.”

“Good.” Draco nodded as if something were at last making sense. Efficient pragmatism in the face of highly unforeseen circumstances was something he expected from his godfather and therefore a solid comfort to cling to in the wake of such a jarring confession.

“Does anybody else know what really happened?”

“The Headmaster,” Harry shrugged, his mind too bogged down with Occlumency to produce a proper sneer, though an effort was made, “not that he ever spoke of it to me. Or anybody else, I expect.”

Blaise’s arm across his chest grew fractionally tighter.

_Drip... Drip..._

“The point I’m trying to make here,” Harry pushed on after a long uncomfortable silence, “is that things would not have progressed that far had I come forward with my concerns. I stayed silent because I was unaccustomed to the idea of adults taking any sort of interest in my well being. And perhaps, on some level, I felt I deserved it. That I was not worth bothering over. I did not wish to appear any weaker than I already did. Or have to put any sort of trust in an authority figure. In short,” Harry narrowed his eyes at Neville, who had that pinched, concerned look on his face, the one that foretold a bevy of incoming hugs that Harry would simply need to brace himself for, “I was being a massive _fucking_ idiot.”

It was not often that Harry cursed, he left that to Jax and Blaise, but if any situation called for it, it was this one.

“So, we are going to get your hand looked over properly. You are going to speak with Professor McGonagall about the misconduct happening to a student, a _Prefect_ , of her House. I will speak to my father and contact a solicitor to properly handle this situation.”

“Okay, Harry,” Neville mumbled, chastised and pale and still slowly dripping red onto the tiles.

“The Board of Governors will have a field day over this, my fathe--” Draco stopped mid-sentence, as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs before his trembling hands clenched into furious fists. The thin line of his shoulders as sharp as glass as he visibly attempted to force down what had to be a maelstrom of unwanted emotion. One of the mirrors lined up along the sink wall spiderwebbed with a sudden crack that pierced the thick atmosphere like a heavy knife.

The noise seemed to break Draco from his mounting spiral as he blinked and slumped against Neville’s broader form.

“Hey, no, shh, I’ve got you.” The Gryffindor soothed, running a comforting hand over Draco’s hair, it left a rusty streak behind in the platinum locks.

“Apologies,” Draco breathed, his eyes closed firmly against the world, “that was terribly uncouth of me.”

“I think,” Harry suggested, “that you should start learning Occlumency for real. From Severus, I mean. It will help. I’ve taught you all I really can at this point, in any case.”

“I will take that under advisement,” Draco sniffed, and Harry was polite enough to pretend that it was one of his usual affectations and not an effort to keep tears at bay.

“Go to the hospital wing,” he told Neville, “I’m going to speak with Severus now.”

“I’ll make certain he does,” Draco said, turning his focus from all things internal to something he could push his frustrations onto immediately, Harry had no doubt Neville would comply.

Jax rubbed his head against the blond’s temple before retreating back over to Harry, who gratefully bundled the serpent into his own arms.

Perhaps... perhaps they would not need to worry about the new Defense professor sabotaging their year after all. If his father and Miss Reid had anything to say about the matter, and he knew they would. A great deal in fact.

Nobody was allowed to hurt the people Harry cared for, he fumed darkly as he and Blaise walked through the dungeons. He would not stand for it and he had a very long memory for grudges. 


	15. Chapter 15

Severus Snape sat at his desk contemplating the tumbler of firewhiskey he had poured for himself a full half-hour past but had not since touched. Beside it were missives from both Remus and Regulus, each holding news of varying degrees of vexing misfortune. Neither his partner’s assigned task of ascertaining the willingness of Britain's werewolf population to, if not fight against the Dark Lord, then to at least not turn towards him; nor Regulus’s continued research on the horcruxes were going well. Severus had been against Remus’s appointment to his particular undertaking, it was folly from the start, and a dangerous one at that. There was no reason for the wolves of Britain to listen to an outsider, not one without proven power as the Dark Lord had. And certainly not one that had eschewed their entire lifestyle for most of his life. Just because Remus happened to share in their curse did not make him one of them, and could in fact, lead the man into greater danger.

Dumbledore would hear none of it, of course.

And Remus was too proud to turn down any chance to help the Order and their cause. Infuriating wolf.

It was a bitter balm that Severus knew the man did it not for the Headmaster’s approval, but because he believed it the right thing to do. It was... _frustrating_ that Severus could not dissuade Remus from this foolhardy path that very well may lead to his doom. The letters he sent were a cold comfort and did little to assuage Severus’s worry.

Regulus delivered equally dissatisfactory news. Little progress had been made in finding a non-lethal solution to their problem. But, the man wrote, the Black library _was_ becoming more willing to make itself of use, the more time and respect that Regulus showed it. Which meant he was spending an awful lot of time in his ancestral home, splitting his efforts between rehabilitating the property, research and playing host to Order meetings. Little wonder there was a lack of tangible results.

Severus himself had his attentions unfortunately split as well, between students, Order business, and the indecorous addition of certain persons to the staff.

It all made for a very deserved measure of firewhiskey, yet Severus found himself merely staring at the glass and frowning.

When a purposeful knock sounded at his door, Severus banished the tumbler with something like relief and stowed the letters before bidding entry. Not that anyone would be able to decipher the cryptic writings, but Severus had not lived this long being careless.

His son and Zabini entered, Harry’s face a stormcloud whilst Zabini’s managed a more subdued facade that nevertheless showed the boy was shaken.

“What has happened?”

“Umbridge.” his son replied, the word curt and unmistakably laced with a venom that might have rivaled his serpent’s if made corporeal.

“I was given the impression I had made myself clear that you were to avoid inciting your new Defense Professor.” Severus narrowed his eyes at the pair, they could not afford any more entanglements. “It is scarcely more than a week into term.”

“It’s not _me_ ,” Harry protested, uncharacteristically argumentative, “it’s _Neville_.”

“And what has Mr. Longbottom done to draw such ire?” Severus asked though the question was hardly necessary. He could well guess what the Gryffindor student would have to say in the face of Dolores Umbridge. It seemed his godson’s influence had not bestowed a significant amount of caution into the boy.

“Talked back, refused to keep his head down even after we all told him to,” Harry scowled, Zabini behind him sighing agreement. “He had a full week of detention.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose before replying not unkindly, “I cannot interfere with the punishment doled out to students not of my own House.”

“The detention in itself isn't the issue,” his son fairly hissed out, anger clear and burning in his green eyes, “it’s the Dark magic used to permanently _scar_ him.”

Severus frowned heavily, dropping his hands flatly to the surface of the desk, “Elaborate.”

As his son explained what he had discovered of the Longbottom boy’s detentions, Severus felt an icy chill creep down his rigid spine. A _Blood Quill_. Used on a _student_ as punishment. Unacceptable in the extreme and frankly flagrantly contemptuous of all realms of perceived decency. It was in fact so idiotic a move that Severus found himself darkly pondering what exactly Dolores Umbridge thought she had that would make her unaccountable for assaulting a child, and one from a well thought of pureblood family at that. What sort of power game was that wretched woman playing at?

“--need to contact Miss Reid. This can not go unquestioned.”

Severus held up a hand to halt the ardent expression before his son could work himself any further into a display more analogous of young Mr. Longbottom’s House, caution would need to be exercised now more than ever. Severus’s oldest acquaintance, paranoia, was ticking the back of his neck.

“I will handle it, you and Mr. Zabini will return to the Slytherin dorms.”

“But--” Harry argued, that in and of itself proof of how deeply this situation was affecting the boy.

“No, you will not involve yourself further into this. It may very well be a ploy to draw you out or to give credence to the Ministry’s diatribe if you attempt to personally strongarm justice for your friend.”

“Neville _deserves_ \--”

“I am not saying that he does not,” Severus cut across his son’s words once more, though not harshly, “I will pursue this to its fullest extent. I _am_ saying that you will not be put into a position to be made more of a target than you already are. I will contact Miss Reid, though I am sure Augusta Longbottom has her own solicitors.” That was an entirely separate aspect to contemplate, Severus highly doubted the old vulture would take well to her only grandson being mistreated so.

No indeed.

Harry glared at him and Severus bore it without giving an inch, he would not be swayed in this matter, until the boy finally blew out a frustrated sigh and averted his gaze to the flagstones.

“Yes, sir.”

Those two words, said with such adolescent fervor and disquiet, should not have pained his heart so to hear. But Severus had long given up any sense of reason or rhyme when it came to how his son affected him. Still, he would be firm in his resolve.

“Go, I am sure you have studying that needs done. Rest assured that I will handle this. And,” he added, eyeing the pair of them pointedly, “keep your heads down.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry murmured again, still refusing to look at him, before taking the Zabini boy by the hand and departing the office at a subdued stomp.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose once more and for a brief moment fiercely wished for the return of his banished drink before drawing a blank sheet of parchment towards himself and penning out a swift missive to Ivy Reid. And after a moment’s consideration, a second letter to an individual that may be able to provide a modicum of insight into understanding exactly what Dolores Umbridge thought she was doing.

After summoning a house elf to send them off, Severus then made his way up to the Headmaster’s office for a much-needed discussion. As loath as he was to spend any time with the man in recent days, given the knowledge he now held and its implications thereof - all unerringly believable and equally infuriating - Severus was well used to living in a bed of snakes, no matter how leonine they purported themselves.

When he entered the Headmaster’s office, it was to find the man in deep concentration over a small open box atop the expansive desk. He did not look up as Severus approached, simply waved a hand in the vague direction of an overstuffed chair.

“Sit my boy, sit. I shall be with you in a moment.”

“The matter is urgent, Headmaster.” Severus intoned, ignoring the chairs and stepping up to the desk proper, he had little patience for Dumbledore’s eccentricities left within him.

Further words were halted, however, when he saw what exactly was in the box. The chill of dread returning tenfold as he espied the twisted blackened ring and stone.

“Have you learned something?” the Headmaster had been quiet on the subject of Horcruxes since the information had been shared with him by Regulus. As reluctant as Severus was to rely on the man for anything, it would be unwise and foolish in the extreme to exclude Dumbledore from the project simply because the did not care for the man. He would not trust him with the secret of Harry’s affliction, but he would use the old man’s vast knowledge and network to find a solution to it without compunction.

“No, not yet.” the Headmaster hummed, his half-moon spectacles resting on the very tip of his nose as he bent over the box, those sharp blue eyes intent on the contents. “Though I suspect I may have uncovered some other, separate, motive entirely.”

“Of the Dark Lord’s? You’ve gleaned his purpose for keeping sequestered since his return?”

“No, nothing so recent as that, my boy.” Dumbledore shook his head, reaching into the box with long, wrinkled fingers and pulling forth the etched stone, “Do you know what this is?”

The stone itself was dark in color, though upon closer inspection one could see it was somewhat translucent, although clearly not made of any sort of precious gem. Severus assumed the Headmaster was referring to the symbol etched upon the stone.

“Grindelwald's mark? Are you truly surprised to find it on one of the Dark Lord’s possessions?” Severus had already dismissed it as affectation, youthful rebelliousness on Tom Riddle’s part, given that the ring as far as they had been able to ascertain was the second Soul Jar made; after the Diary.

Grindelwald had ostensibly spoken for the betterment of _all_ magical humans, manipulative use of blood-status amongst his ranks notwithstanding, a young half-blooded Tom Riddle could easily have leaned into that man’s tenets before solidifying his own.

“It is not, in fact, Gellert’s mark,” Dumbledore twinkled, holding up the small stone so that the light reflected its surface. Severus idly wondered if the Headmaster was the only person left on the planet so at ease using that man’s given name so casually, although he supposed begrudgingly that Albus had earned that privilege.

“Who’s then?”

“Now, that is the question, isn’t it?” Dumbledore chuckled and Severus felt a vein throb in his temple.

“I do not have time for guessing games, Headmaster. The matter I came to discuss is urgent and concerns the welfare of the students.”

Dumbledore closed his knobbled fingers around the stone, hiding it from view as he finally deigned to look at Severus properly.

“Has something happen to Harry?”

“Not as yet,” Severus folded his arms across his chest, “however, had he not just come to me with this news, I suspect it would have only been a matter of time.”

“What has happened, then?”

“Dolores Umbridge has brought it upon herself to bring a Blood Quill into this school and avail its Dark magic for the purposes of _detentions_.”

The Headmaster blinked, plainly taken aback, which just went to show how correct Severus was in worrying over the move, “Has she really? My, my, Dolores, what makes you so sure of your position to risk such a thing.” Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. “Who was the unfortunate recipient?”

“Longbottom, I have it on good authority that he is in the hospital wing at present being treated for curse damage as we speak. The boy has evidently not ceased bleeding from the hand after a week’s worth of torture that he did not feel the need to speak up about until caught out.”

“Indeed?” the Headmaster quirked one bushy white eyebrow, “Augusta is not going to be pleased, to be certain. Am I correct in assuming it was Harry that did the catching?”

“Amongst a small selection of others, yes.” Severus should not be so surprised at the callus reaction by the old man, and he was not, not really, but he could not help but once more wonder what Albus Dumbledore thought he was doing attempting to run a school full of children when it was clear where his priorities truly lay.

“We shall have to work quickly if we wish to make use of this opportunity, I had not expected so bold a move so soon into the school year. It shows a remarkable amount of arrogance, whether justified or not, we shall see soon enough.”

“I had surmised as much myself, Headmaster, and have already set into motion a response.”

“The fervid Ivy Reid, I presume?” Dumbledore twinkled at him, Severus merely nodded an acquiesce rather than the burning scowl he wished to display. “That should do quite nicely, I think. Minerva is no doubt with the boy already, I will send a note to Augusta myself in a moment.”

Then the Headmaster paused in his verbal planning, the fingers of his occupied hand worrying over the stone they hid in an absent motion. He was quiet for long enough that Severus very nearly spoke up before, “I think it best that you take this, my boy, for the moment at least. It offers far too dangerous a distraction to me at present.”

He held out the stone to Severus who did not uncross his arms, mouth turning down at the corners despite his earlier resolve. “I _believe_ , Headmaster, that finding a way to defeat the Dark Lord is worth being _distracted_.”

“Oh, you misunderstand, dear Severus. I will keep the ring, it still bears much study. It’s the stone that pulls me, it is better off in your hands.”

“Are they not one and the same?”

“No, no indeed they are quite disparate. I have an inkling Tom did not know that which he possessed when he chose to make this heirloom into so evil a thing. Then again, perspective is everything.” He held the stone out further and Severus was less inclined than before to accept it.

“What exactly do you believe it to be then, Headmaster?”

“The Resurrection Stone, of course.” That damnable twinkle would haunt him until his dying breath. Severus could only frown deeper.

“The children’s tale? What could possibly lead you to that conclusion?”

“Many things, a lifetime’s research being primary amongst them. Now, take this so that we may prepare for what is to come without further delay.” The order was clear in the Headmaster’s deceptively light tone and Severus reluctantly held out a hand, if only to escape this conversation sooner. It was cold against his palm despite having spent the last few minutes in a closed fist. Severus was quick to secret it away inside his robe, unnerved despite himself. He would return the thing to Regulus himself if the Headmaster was so disinclined to its presence.

~~~~~~~>

“ _Caro,_ calm down,” Blaise pleaded quietly as Harry paced the length of their dorm room aggressively, “everything is going to be fine. Your father will take care of this.”

Harry let out a noise more akin to a snarl than anything.

He did not want to calm down. 

He was _angry_ and _frustrated_.

And _useless_.

He knew there was nothing he could do to help at the moment. That anything he tried would do more harm than good. That did not stop the burning of his insides, the urging of his limbs to move, to do something, _anything_. They had all been stuck in a holding pattern for months and months. Just waiting for something to happen.

Harry was _fucking_ tired of waiting.

Jax hissed grumpily from his shoulders, just as tense as Harry, sibilant curses falling around them like susurrant acid rainfall.

“ _Caro_ \--”

“Don’t.” Harry bit out, turning on his heal harshly enough for his boots to squeak against the flagstones and pointed a shaking finger at the boy sitting on the edge of his bed. “Just. Just don’t.”

Blaise sighed, hunching his tall frame down, even his curls seeming to droop miserably.

 _Fucking shit_ , now the molten anger was crashing against viscous, cloying guilt; clogging up every dark corner and hidden crevice inside of him. Harry choked on his next breath, barely resisting the urge to yank his own hair from his scalp. Not that it would matter, it always just grew right back.

Wasn't magic just so wonderful? It answered all of life's problems with just the flick of a wand.

Harry kicked out hard at Theo’s trunk, the dull _thunk_ almost seeming to echo in the quiet of the otherwise empty dorm. It did nothing to the expensive wood, not even leaving a scuff mark, but Harry’s foot _throbbed_.

He let out another snarl that somehow morphed into a sob halfway through and he just collapsed to the floor in a heap of too many emotions; burying his face in his knees, Harry tried to halt the sobs but it was impossible. It was as if a floodgate of pent up frustrations had finally burst through his carefully constructed barricades and refuted all attempts to hold anything at bay.

He had not felt so utterly lost to his own despair since first year, the panic attack he’d had after his father had said he’d done well on his first potion. He hadn’t been Harry’s father then, Harry hadn’t had anyone but Jax, perhaps tangentiality Ezra, everything had just been so much all at once. Leaving the Dursleys, coming to Hogwarts, facing such a large unknown future. Praise on top of everything had been too much for him then.

Now, now everything was so much worse and better and horrifying in that he could lose so much more. He cared too much about too many people. How was he supposed to protect them all when he couldn’t even keep control of his own emotions? What was he meant to do when Voldemort showed up and all Harry could manage was to sniffle at him? Everything was falling down around him and it wouldn’t stop until he suffocated under the weight of it--

“ _Shh, shh, it’s okay, love. Just let it out, I’m here, I’ve got you._ ” The lilting Italian in his ear was almost as soothing as the hand rubbing circles up and down his back as Blasie curled close to him on the floor.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, I c-can’t stop,” Harry hiccuped into his knees, gasping for scraps of air, he could feel Jax attempting to wind around his middle, but Harry was balled too tightly for the serpent to manage and he found himself as unable to loosen his own grip as to halt the wracking sobs that had overtaken him.

“Don’t be sorry, _tesoro_ ,” Blaise murmured into his hair, wrapping long arms around Harry’s diminutive form.

“It h-hurts,” Harry admitted to the darkness behind his screwed shut eyes, the frames of his glasses were biting into his cheeks but he could not find it himself to care.

“I know, I’m here, I’ve got you.”

_For how long? Nothing is safe, nothing will ever be safe._

“ _I’ll burn them all to ash._ ” Jax hissed against his other ear, a vicious promise that Harry should not take comfort in but did anyway. At least Jax could protect himself if something happened to Harry.

“We’ll figure this out, _caro_.”

“H-how?”

“Together.”

Harry let out a strangled laugh at the absurd _Hufflepuffishness_ of the answer. They had obviously been spending far too much time with Justin if that was the best Blaise could come up with.

His sobs were dying down though, and he could practically feel Blaise’s smug smirk against his temple.

Eventually, he was able to uncurl enough that Jax could slither into his lap and Harry found himself turned into Blaise’s chest to the point that he was nearly in his lap in return.

“Your clothes are getting dirty...” Harry mumbled thickly, relishing in the rumble against his face that the other boy’s chucking caused in the chest he was pressed against.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me, _caro_.”

Blaise started rubbing circles into his back again and Harry was too exhausted to resist the urge to burrow himself further into the embrace, for once seeking out as much physical comfort as he could. He did not deserve such patience.

“I’m afraid to lose you. To lose Jax and my Dad,” Harry admitted some minutes later, “Millicent, Neville, Draco, Remus, Ezra, Sirius... how did this happen?”

“You care for people Harry, there’s nothing wrong with that. I guarantee they all feel the same. That’s just being human.”

“How am I supposed to protect everyone?” With his eyes closed, it was easier to pretend he wasn’t admitting to his weaknesses.

“It’s not your responsibility to protect everyone, Harry.”

 _Yes it is,_ Harry didn’t say, but he curled his hands tighter into Blaise’s fancy shirt, wrinkling it terribly no doubt.

He didn’t say anything else as Blaise continued to rub his back, eventually beginning to hum a soft melody against Harry’s messy hair that took a few moments for him to recognise as the song the other boy had written for him. It made the tumult inside of him settle further to make room for an embarrassingly comforting warm glow.

Harry made a silent promise to himself, no more breakdowns. He had learned Occlumency for a reason. They did not have time to waste on Harry feeling sorry for himself. Not if he was going to figure out a solution to get out of this war alive... and more importantly, the ones he loved.

He felt wrung out by the outflow of emotion, hollow and a bit drippy. But his head was clearer than it had been in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and these inconsistent updates, I really do hope to be better about updating.


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